


Kick, Push

by ziamhaze



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, M/M, Olympics, Skateboarding, an Olympic fic that doesn’t have liam as the athlete???, but not social, he has performance anxiety, lots of mention of anxiety, no not that type, physiotherapist!liam, skater!Zayn, you’re welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-23 17:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 85,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19706464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziamhaze/pseuds/ziamhaze
Summary: World champion street skateboarder Zayn Malik has been on top of the sport’s rankings since he turned pro at 15.  So when the Olympic Committee announces that skateboarding will be included for the first time at the 2020 Games, he’s thrilled to take on the challenge while representing Great Britain.  There’s just one thing standing in between him and adding another title to the record books: his crippling performance anxiety.  But when Team GB Skateboarding’s awarded a physiotherapist with an affinity for experimental therapy methods and a crinkly eyed smile, Zayn thinks he might just have found his ticket to bringing home gold.





	Kick, Push

**Author's Note:**

> Another month, another ziam fic. I had SUCH a good time building this world and putting zayn and liam into it. I hope you guys enjoy it just as much!
> 
> The title for this fic comes from one of my favourite songs of all time by Lupe Fiasco. The story telling in this one song is outstanding, and most definitely fits exactly what I wanted to get across with the fic. I know lots of people will wonder why I didn’t name this Light Me Up when you finish, but trust me, when you listen to Kick, Push, you’ll understand.
> 
> Thank you for such the huge amount of love for my first fic! For ziam fic not being as popular as it used to be, I couldn’t believe how many of you read it and wrote such kind things on the picspam - I read them all!
> 
> Thank you to my beta reader Megan and her liam hand inspo, as well as my cheerleader Brooke!
> 
> BEFORE YOU READ:
> 
> \- Zayn’s career was based off the current street legend Nyjah Houston, from Zayn's tricks, down to his Olympic performance and knee injury. I might as well write a biography on the guy with how much I read up on him. Look in the endnotes for links to some of the interviews I used with him.  
> \- From above, Zayn’s Olympic Finals performance was based on Nyjah’s 2018 SLS World Championship performance. I used most of the announcer’s dialogue from that, so mini disclaimer.  
> \- I did AS MUCH research as I could possibly do to make this as on point with the real Olympics as possible, but skateboarding _will_ be making its debut at the Tokyo Olympics, and even though that’s only 1 year out from when I’m posting this, not a lot has been solidified for the sport yet; it’s very much a lot of speculation at the moment. Again, the endnotes will have a link for my ‘bibliography’ of disclaimers where I got all my information - incl. my switch of the park/street competition days, Olympic Village based off Beijing rooms, opening ceremony country order from Rio, sponsor info, uniforms (Britain _just_ announced the company who will be designing them while I was writing, so definitely no pictures yet), etc.  
> \- That said, Team GB _has_ been announced, and because those are real people outside of the fandom, I chose not to include them in the story, even though I’m hopeful Sky Brown will make it in the Park section  
> \- Practically all of the Street League Skateboarding (SLS) competition cities Zayn mentions I tried to align with the year 2020, but bc that’s in the future, I had to bend a few things  
> \- Full body cryo therapy is a method of physical therapy that some people swear by and others think is actually horrible for your healing process. Liam understands both sides to the argument, but his personality in the fic with this career makes him at least want to give it a go. So, yes, I know it's a touchy subject in the medicine world, but deal.  
> \- In terms of all the Japanese/Tokyo references, I’ve been to Tokyo myself, so I pulled from my experiences for all that accuracy  
> \- Finally, I’m fairly certain I’ve made it clear, but just to reiterate - Zayn does NOT have social anxiety. He has performance anxiety, which is focused around competitions in his sport and not something he lives with outside of contest season. I do not suffer from this myself, but I do suffer from other mental illnesses, so I hope I did the disorder justice. His manic ramblings might seem confusing, but they're meant to come off that way to make you understand what it's like to need to word vomit in order to try and get words to match how you're feeling/thinking.
> 
> Videos/Music:
> 
> -I’m assuming not a lot of people know about skateboarding tricks, and as much as I’d like to think I described what you needed to know, words don’t do videos justice. So, I’ve included links to the tricks mentioned within the story, but the endnotes will also include a master list.
> 
> \- Music is _integral_ to Zayn’s character, and because of that I included lots of lyrics towards the second half of the story. Again, I’ll link the songs at the lyrics because the scenes are SO MUCH better if you hear what he’s hearing - literally putting yourself in his head. I come from a screenwriting background, so for me, scenes like the night time joy ride would be an entire montage in slow motion with the different songs cutting in and out. Because of that, I’ve been telling people to listen to the songs while they read, so they can have just as much fun, but I know for a lot, that disrupts the reading experience, so I’ll also put the full playlists in the endnotes if you’d rather wait.
> 
> Lots of other cool links will be at the end too, so check those out as well!

**Competition Day: +16**

As a kid, you dream about a lot of crazy things. Aspiring to go to space, racing around a track at supersonic speeds, being fearless enough to climb the tallest tree in the neighborhood. For Zayn, it was wanting to be a Power Ranger. The black one, to be specific. After that, he’d probably chose to win Gold at the X Games. 

Ever since he was able to balance on one foot, he can remember being glued to a skateboard. At age four he did his first proper kick flip, age ten broke his first bone from attempting to clear a backside 360 nose grab over a stair rail, but it wasn’t until he was sixteen that Zayn managed to secure the coveted X Games Gold medal. 

What was once a childhood dream became a reality achieved, in, as some would argue, still childhood. Only a small portion of the population could say that they’ve accomplished their life goal. An even smaller amount could say that they’d done so before they could even order a pint. As much as the enormity of it excited Zayn and those around him at the time, it also made him wonder: now what? How does it get any bigger than this? 

Clearing customs and walking out to cameras galore, he thinks he’s finally got his answer. 

Tokyo Olympics 2020. 

At age twenty seven, he’s used to the press and attention, but it helps to feel Louis’ arm sling around his shoulders and bring him close. The flashes go off from every press outlet around the world trying to catch a glimpse at two more elite athletes arriving for The Games. 

It’s a moment of pure friendship, one that Zayn treasures more than he thinks Louis understands; a simple gesture to ease his nerves. 

When you’ve been under a microscope by an entire industry since you were a pre-teen, it only makes sense that anxiety creeps in from the pressure of it all. Before his first X Games win, Zayn’s uneasiness came from not wanting to make any mistakes that would jeopardize his prospering career as a pro skater. After the victory, it came from needing to keep up the new expectations of being number one. With twenty various titles and consistently staying in the top five world rankings since he went pro at fifteen, Zayn thinks he’s done a pretty good job at maintaining the hype behind him, but it’s the inner pressure that he puts on himself that has always been the worst demon of them all. Recently however, his brain’s betrayed him in a wonderfully new manner: instilling copious amounts of fear about how he’ll _react_ to failure, not exactly the failure itself. It’s an unconventional thought, or so Google’s told him, so he hopes that his traditional techniques to banish the anxiety away when it shows up around competition season, will pull through. Now that he’s in Japan, Zayn will just be happy with himself if he makes it _back_ to the airport without having experienced any sort of existential anxiety attack, medal or not. 

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Niall filming the whole experience - another thing that he’s gotten used to since his best friend took on the job of his personal platform manager and videographer when social media started to gain traction. Zayn knows he’s not supposed to always look directly at the lens, but he can’t help it. It’s much easier to grin at Niall’s 5D Mark II than to smile down the barrels of cameras that will have his and Louis’ picture sent out to Getty Images in a matter of minutes; the likes of The Boardr and Thrasher adding headlines to the shots akin to ‘Team GB’s Street and Park Skater touchdown in Tokyo!’ or ‘Boy Wonder Zayn Malik One Step Closer to Solidifying Gold and Making Skateboarding History’. 

He hardly slept on the flight over from London, the first class ride not doing anything to ease his growing anguish. Staring out the window of the private car stuck in Tokyo traffic, Zayn’s brought out of his thoughts as an impassioned Niall shoves a camera in his and Louis’ face for them to look at the footage he captured. Somehow the Irishman’s DSLR has managed to make Zayn look presentable in his black jeans and red and blue Team Great Britain zip up; not at all like he had only gotten an hour of sleep on the thirteen hour flight. He rolls his eyes when he hears Louis ask Niall if he can steal some of the footage for his own Instagram. 

Fourteen years on as a serious skater and Louis still hadn’t bothered to get a videographer of his own. Even if park skating was infinitely easier to film than Zayn’s street, it still paid to have a regular photographer versus finding randoms each time you needed a sponsor piece filmed. It’s a miracle Niall hadn’t ever charged him for the amount of footage that Louis’ ended up poaching over the years, or the subsequent film that came from the ever conniving _‘well since Zayn’s taking a break and you’ve got your stuff out, why don’t you get a quick shot of this 540?’_. 

All three of them know that it’s not in Niall’s nature to deny something as petty as b-roll, especially for a shot as unreplicable as their arrival, but Zayn’s gotta give it to Louis for at least asking politely even though he already knows the answer. 

Registration at the Olympic Village doesn’t help his nerves any. Does the opposite, actually. 

Inside and outside, Zayn’s a humble type. He likes to blame it on his upbringing and the years he had to endure his sisters getting on his last nerve, them yelling at his trucks and wheels littering the house and him screaming about how long they took to get ready in the morning. Athlete on the rise or not, a person could only take skipping brushing his teeth in order to make it to school on time, for so long. 

Walking down the halls of his home for the next three weeks, he can’t help but think he’s in a world different than what he knows. World class athletes from every corner of the planet were casually walking around and chatting, emblems of their countries embroidered somewhere on their outfit a sign that he was far from his little hometown of Bradford. 

Ever since the Olympic committee had announced that skateboarding would be included for the first time at the Summer Games four years ago, Zayn had nothing but tunnel vision. It was the type of challenge that he had been yearning for ever since he won his first championship, yet now that he was here, the entire world watching and his home country counting on him, the man was shaking in his boots. 

Once they’ve reached their pseudo apartment in the made for Olympic housing complex, Louis punches the key code into the pad on the door handle, eager to settle in and get to the festivities that the promiscuous Village promised. 

Zayn trails behind him once the door’s open, using one of his jam packed duffles as a door stopper so he can pull his other bag full of skate equipment in easier. 

Traveling abroad for a competition isn’t new to him, but when it’s one as important as this, Zayn’s packed a lot more than he’d care to admit. Even though he’d rather not have to use a board that hasn’t already been broken in, he still brought a few new decks just in case. The extra boards and replacement trucks enough to incur a hefty fee at Heathrow’s check-in desk for exceeding the 25kg allowance. If the other three abandoned bags in the hallway were anything to go by, it seemed like Louis wasn’t about to take any chances either. Then again, he wouldn’t put it past the male to have a majority of it be clothes. Competing athlete or not, Louis was looking to have a “good time” more than anything else. Zayn chose to focus on not losing his bearings when he heard that, rather than take the phrase for anything other than its surface value. 

“Forget the luggage Zayn, check out this view.” 

Hoisting his clothes bag onto the bed nearest the bathroom, Zayn pads over to where his friend’s got the curtains to the small apartment opened, revealing a clear view of Tokyo’s skyline. It’s neither of their first times in the city, each having traveled to the island country for competitions in the past, but Zayn’s definitely never had a room show the expanse of the capital quite like this. 

“For being in the bay, this is insane.” 

Zayn can’t help but silently agree with Louis’ observation, stunned that he was able to make out the iconic Tokyo Tower from their distance and this far into the day, mid-morning smog be damned. The city wasn’t as overly consumed by skyscrapers like Manhattan, but the tall buildings and metropolitan area still went as far as the eye could see; Zayn could only imagine what it’d look like at night from this vantage point. 

“You lads got the city?” Zayn looks over his shoulder, eyes landing on Niall maneuvering his way around the bags in the doorway. “Camden and I got the arena on the other side of the water.” Squeezing his way in between the two, Niall takes in the view. “Shit, you wanna trade?” 

There’s no way Louis would ever, and Zayn just wants to stay as far away from any unnecessary pressures as possible, which most definitely includes rooming with their coach. 

“In your wet dreams,” Louis refutes, breathing in deeply as he steps away from the window and takes a better look at the pseudo apartment he and Zayn would be sharing. “Not bad, not bad.” 

“Before you get comfortable, I think we should set some ground rules.” Leaving Niall to take one of the arm chairs near the window, Zayn walks back over to his bed and drops his backpack next to the other piece of luggage. Louis hops onto his bed, completely ignoring the fact that his bags are still waiting for him in the corridor. “I know you plan on making the most of this, and I’ve got nothing against that,” Louis raises his eyebrows smugly at what Zayn’s insinuating, “but I’d rather not have a repeat of Barcelona.” 

At the mention of the incident, Louis’ smirk only grows. Being friends since Zayn was eight and Louis nine, it was a no brainer that the two would share a room whenever an event included both park and street competitions, especially in the early days when sponsors weren’t that generous and they had to foot the bill themselves. However, the second Zayn had walked in on Louis and two others tangled up in one another, he vowed to only room with Niall from then on or pay for a private room himself. Being the only two British contenders in the skateboarding category, the team was a small one, and therefore Zayn knew that he was bound to have to room with someone. Without a personal team of his own, Louis was Zayn’s only option, since Camden insisted that they bunk together to make an athlete only room, while Niall would stay with him to form a ‘team member’ room, and leave the third room to the two allotted physios. 

“Sock on the door then?” Louis kicks up one of his feet into the air to show off the article of clothing. “Make up for the uni days we lost?” 

If those were the kinds of things that he missed out on after leaving school at sixteen, then Zayn was ok with that. “If you want to let everyone else know what you’re up to, then be my guest.” He walks over to where his second bag was propping open the door, grabbing hold of one of the straps and dragging it over to his side of the room. Louis lost his chance at using the ease of access when he decided to be self-indulgent. “I was thinking something a little more discreet. Sending a text maybe? You know, like a normal person?” 

“Tommo?” Niall speaks up from the corner, eyes glued to his phone. “Normal?” 

Reaching behind his head, Louis throws one of the beds’ pillows at the man, causing the other to nearly drop his mobile. “Fine, but that just means you better check your phone often because I won’t be willing to relocate if you only see the message in the lift and didn’t plan accordingly.” 

The idea in itself sounds more ludicrous than Zayn just killing time in Niall’s room if it came down to it. He knows what it’s like to be in the heat of the moment. Seeing the man and his pick for the night saunter out of the room with hedonistic stares was a million times _more_ impressionable than walking in on them in Zayn’s opinion. At least then he could look away before identifying too much. 

“As long as you do the same,” Zayn replies as he starts to unpack his things, separating what needed to be hung up from what could go in drawers on the bed. “ _I’m_ not going to relocate if I’m already in bed and you want to use the room.” 

“You’re really not going to take advantage of where we are and sleep with at least one footballer?” Louis watches Zayn unpack from his spot, head propped up in his left hand. “The whole village is chock full of the fittest people on the planet, quite literally. Yourself included.” 

This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation. Zayn knows exactly what sort of articles and gossip channels that Louis’ delved into to see just how true the rumors were regarding the sexual rendezvous that supposedly went on in the Olympic Village. In fact, the question should be a rhetorical one because Louis already knows his answer. He needs to focus. On his training, on his anxiety, on being _present_. Sure, sleeping with someone might take the edge off things from a biological standpoint, and he _did_ have a thing for footballers’ physiques, but when the stakes were as high as the first Olympic gold medal for skateboarding in history, Zayn thinks a one night stand can take a back seat. And Louis knows that about him. 

Ignoring the flattery meant to serve as a persuasive aid, Zayn walks over to the wardrobe to gather a few hangers. “Gold and my sanity mean more to me than a quickie,” he says with petulance. “Between you and Niall, I’m sure you’ll sack enough on my behalf.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Niall agrees with a nod of his head in Zayn’s direction. Since he was officially registered as one of Zayn’s personal staff members, the male got nearly all the privileges athletes and managers did, including floor access at the venue and training facilities. Add that to his spot in the village versus needing to find his own accomodation like other close friends to the athletes or volunteers, and Niall was more than equipped to make a few memories of his own. 

Looking up from his unfolding, Zayn catches Louis’ eye and sees that the older boy can tell what he’s thinking. “We’ll make you proud,” Louis promises, about to lay on his back, but a knock at the door stops him. “You’re closer,” he directs towards Zayn. 

For the amount of discipline it took to get to their level of athleticism, Louis sure could be lazy. Regardless, Zayn hangs up one of his linen shirts and goes to open the door. 

“Is this all your guys’?” Zayn looks to where Camden’s pointing at the discarded luggage in the hallway. 

“Louis’,” he answers casually, but the middle aged man dressed in cargo shorts and a Team GB t-shirt doesn’t look apathetic. Even after coaching them for a year, Zayn can’t help but think that the man has so much more to learn about working with Louis. 

“It’s gonna get stolen,” Camden scolds, looking past Zayn to try and see where Louis was in the room. Zayn keeps his thoughts to himself when he hears his friend annoyingly mutter to himself that “no one’s gonna steal it”. They weren’t staying at some hotel, this was one of many many complexes built specifically to house Olympic athletes and staff. The level of respect and confidentiality was different than normal public housing spaces, but Zayn stayed out of it. 

Leaning forward, he took one of the handles being pointed towards him and lugged the bag inside, using his foot to hold the door open for the man until he could do it for himself. “There’s still one more out there,” Camden informs Louis, though it comes out more like a demand. 

To be the coach of Great Britain’s skateboarding team, Zayn always thought that Camden’s strict demeanor didn’t exactly match with the culture of the sport. The man had amazing advice and work ethic though, so he couldn’t help but respect him. Louis on the other hand? From day one the two butted heads, but once it was just him and Zayn who qualified from the original team of five, the more singled out attention forced Louis to swallow his remarks and listen. 

Rolling off the bed, Louis makes his way to the door to fetch his last piece of luggage, Zayn already having dropped what he carried in to the foot of Louis’ bed. “While you guys are all here, I want to have a team meeting with everyone.” Camden tosses the bag in is grasp onto the bed, looking over at the boy in the corner. “Niall that includes you.” 

Peering up from his mobile, Niall nods and stands up, stretching his limbs that were still stiff from the long plane ride. 

“Didn’t even ask us how the flight was,” Louis mumbles as he passes Zayn back to his bed with the last of his things, joining the others waiting at the front door once he’s lowered the duffle onto his bed. 

As the four of them make their way down the hall, Zayn feels the exhaustion start to hit. When he looks down at his watch and sees that it’s nearing noon, it makes sense; he’s been up for nearly eighteen hours and hopped eight time zones. Fingers crossed this meeting goes by quick and he can slip in a nap before Louis undoubtedly drags him out for the night. 

Walking into the room, Zayn notes how it’s a lounge, rather than the apartment like set up they had just come from, but the layout of the space takes a backseat once the three people sat on the couch turn to face the incoming group. 

“This is me texting you that I need the room tonight,” Louis whispers into Zayn’s ear, the latter glancing to his side in order to make sure he’s heard Louis correctly. They hadn’t even been in the room for more than ten seconds, how could he call dibs that fast? 

Following Louis’ line of vision, Zayn couldn’t tell which of the three he was staring at: the blonde woman who had piercing blue eyes, the man who looked to be around their age wearing a floral print short sleeve button down, or the other twenty something male with a warm smile that Zayn could easily see himself getting lost in. 

Before he has a chance to tell Louis to pick up his jaw, Zayn’s attention is being stolen by Camden taking the lead and introducing the strangers. 

“Alright everyone,” the man claps his hands together, “this is the entirety of Team GB for skateboarding.” Zayn holds off on sitting down, taking advantage of his standing position and extending his hand out for each of the others to shake instead. “Kristin will be one of the physios on shift, both here at the Village, and at the Park. She’s got nearly twenty years experience working with professional athletes through private practices, so take advantage.” 

For someone with that much work on their resume, Zayn couldn’t believe how youthful she appeared to be. Typically working in the fitness world made for a healthy lifestyle, but she hardly looked a day over thirty. Even though he wasn’t anywhere near needing to worry about aging, maybe Zayn should take a few notes on what sort of moisturizer she was using. 

“Harry’s our local volunteer translator. He’s British by birth, but lives here in Tokyo and speaks Japanese. From around 9AM to 6PM he’s available for you to ask any questions regarding local customs or for any translation help you might need, inside and outside the Park. However,” Camden pauses to open up the food containers that were waiting for them on the coffee table, “since he’s a volunteer, those are the only hours that he’s obligated to work. Anything before or after that is at his discretion, so if you need help with reservations or riding the metro or going out at night, then keep in mind that it’d be in your best interest to make sure you ask him before six.” 

When Zayn goes to shake Harry’s hand, he notices how perfectly clear the man’s complexion is and how, without saying a word, there’s a charismatic charm to his grin. His ostentatious choice of top and lanky frame tells Zayn that he isn’t his type, but he can definitely see others falling at his feet at a bat of an eye. By the way Louis’ giving off hurry up vibes, Zayn thinks he’s found the lucky one of the three. 

“Louis Tomlinson.” The Northerner looks to have a particularly firm grip on Harry’s right hand, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind, his smile barely faltering at the pressure. “Park Style.” 

It seems that the last two words struck something in Harry, an opportune look coming over him. “Harry _Styles_. An actual Style.” For a moment he stops the shaking motion, frowning at himself. “That sounded a lot better in my head.” In what way, Zayn can’t seem to come up with, but even after the horrendous attempt at a pun, Louis still looks to be drinking in everything Harry has to offer. 

“And finally, Liam’s going to be our second physio on staff. Not as much experience as Kristin, but the kid’s got a hell of a hold on muscle tears to make up for it.” Zayn can’t help but think Camden should probably figure out a better way to speak about the professionals that doesn’t make it seem like he’s reading off flashcards about them all, but he’s too focused on how calloused Liam’s hand is when it’s shaking his own to give the commentary any further thought. “Both he and Kristin will be sharing the room next to Zayn and Louis, so keep that in mind. Now, as you guys know, the Urban Sports Park shares the venue with the BMX riders, and even though Britain’s got their own physios for those events, we’re only two people, so Liam and Kristin will act as back up for them on the BMX competition days. Other than that, they’ll split every day in half, so one will always be on call if you need.” 

Zayn’s finally taking a seat, grateful that Niall’s the one sat directly opposite Liam, that way he doesn’t get caught taking in the other’s features. 

A light shade of stubble covers the man’s jaw line, his lips a soft pink that look like they’d feel worlds different than the rough hands he’s just touched. His eyelashes aren’t as long as Zayn’s, but the inviting shade of brown behind them put Zayn’s maple ones to shame. The short haircut adds to his boyish allure, yet the tattoos covering his arms are a direct contradiction to Liam’s calming facial features. Behind the GB t-shirt stretching over his pecs, Zayn wonders if there’s more ink to discover. Ink, and maybe a lot of other attractive peculiarities. 

“-based on the profiles that I’ve given you three, but I should also introduce you to Niall.” All eyes turn to the boy on the opposite side of the couch Zayn’s sat on, Liam’s flickering over to Zayn’s for a second before landing back on the man Camden’s going into brief detail about. “He’s Zayn’s videographer and business partner of sorts, which means he’s considered staff and will be rooming with me.” 

“I’m not going to be filming 24/7, but I’ve got a permit for each of you to sign saying that you consent to be on camera any time that I _do_ record. It’s easier that way.” Niall sits back down after dishing out his own round of handshakes to the three across from him. “The papers are in my room though, so we can do that later.” Without waiting for a reply, he starts to dig in to the food on display in front of them, the rest of the group taking his lead and following suit. 

As he sits there with a bowl of rice, steamed vegetables, and tofu, Zayn watches Liam try and master the chopsticks out of the corner of his eye. Camden’s reading off from one of the binders he’s prepared for each of them, going over their unlimited metro cards, available facilities, press information, and all other general housekeeping topics. And Zayn listens, he really does, but he can multitask. It takes everything in him not to break out in a smile every time Liam’s scowling at himself for dropping a piece of chicken half way to his mouth. Zayn wants to tell him that tightening his hold on the sticks won’t do him any good, he’s got to actually change his form if he wants to finish the bowl, but he doesn’t, simply stares on in endearment every twenty seconds or so as a substitute. 

“Regarding curfews,” Camden says in between taking sips of his water. “There’s no official policy, so I’ve got full control as coach.” If Zayn looked, he would probably bet that Louis was just waiting to pounce if given a response he wasn’t satisfied with. “Since it’s just the two of you, and you’re both adults, I’m not going to set any except for the night before each of your events.” Not even Zayn was expecting to hear that. “I think the three of us have mutual respect for one other, and working with you guys for the past year has led me to see that you know yourselves better than I do. As an athlete you should. That said, as long as you keep up your performance during practices, I don’t think you need me harping on you to go to bed like toddlers. This isn’t babysitting, we’re at the Olympics for christ’s sake.” 

Zayn takes another peek over at Liam, his lips curling up when he watches the man stab his chicken with a single chopstick after yet another unsuccessful effort at picking it up properly. Looking up, Liam realizes that his moment of frustration was seen by someone else, but Zayn doesn’t look away when the man diverts his gaze back to Camden, clearly embarrassed at being caught. 

“Alright, well I think that pretty much does it,” the coach says in a worn out tone. “Everything that I’ve gone over will be in your binders, including a list of everyone’s mobile numbers and any other emergency contact information you might need. Liam,” the male quickly chews what he’s got in his mouth at the sound of his name. “You pair up with Zayn, and Louis, you with Kristin to double check that everyone’s well versed in training habits and past injuries.” 

Immediately Liam’s eyes are back to finding Zayn’s, any hint of embarrassment now replaced with intrigue. The switch in disposition has Zayn filled with a curiosity of his own. 

Not hearing any comments, Camden shuts his binder, simultaneously dropping his serious act. “We’ve got two medalists in here, yeah?” Before he turns to look at his coach, Zayn sees Liam start to smile at the confident statement. “Our job is to help you reach your greatest potential on the biggest stage in the world, so if I’ve left anything out, don’t hesitate to come to me or anyone else to take care of it.” 

Zayn knows Camden’s waiting for some sort of acknowledgement to what he’s said, but all the skater can think about is ‘biggest stage in the world’. There’s still sixteen more days before he steps up onto it, but Zayn can feel his heart rate speed up just a tad at the reminder of how monumentally important the reason he’s sat in that room is. All he can do is nod in response, picking up the bowl’s last piece of broccoli with his chopsticks and filling his mouth to avoid any other questions. 

“Sounds good then. See you at dinner everyone.” Placing his binder under his arm, Camden picks out Niall to show him the consent forms back in their room, Harry volunteering to tag along so he can sign his before he forgets. 

“You’re not leaving though, right? I’ve got a few words I want help translating.” Louis’ getting up to toss his plastic bowl in the bin, eagerness way too high for Zayn’s taste, but like the death grip handshake, Harry seems to be alright with it. 

“You go do your interview, I’ll be around.” It’s smoother than anything Zayn could’ve ever dreamt up Harry to say, only proving his initial impressions to be true. 

The answer seems to be one that keeps Louis on his toes, something Zayn’s seen only a handful of people be able to do in the nineteen years he’s known the boy. Louis wasn’t the easiest to hold down, anyone who had to be in a room with him for longer than ten minutes would be able to see that. So for him to find someone on par with his cheek after only a few hours since landing, Zayn could tell this would either end amazingly, or in a full fledged explosion. And not the cool one’s at the end of 80’s films either. 

“Since Liam’s still eating, we can go into my room to talk.” Kirstin looks to Louis for confirmation as she too stands. 

“Yeah, sounds good,” the skater replies from his spot near the door. “Text me if you need anything Zayn.” Louis sends a quick wink before exiting the room with the woman, leaving Liam and Zayn alone. 

It’s not as if the room was loud to begin with, but it’s especially quiet now that it’s just the two of them. Zayn’s long since finished his food, but he’s still got a bottle of water in between his legs. 

Taking a deep breath, he starts to unscrew the cap. “So I take it you’ve never been to Japan before.” 

Liam scoots over to the opposite side of the sofa he’s on so that he wasn’t so far from the other, one hand still holding his half eaten rice bowl. “It’s that obvious, huh?” 

“Would it be safe to assume all of Asia?” Zayn takes a long drink of the ice cold water, thankful that it was the temperature it was with the level of summer heat outside. 

“I think so, yeah,” Liam says with minimal embarrassment, perhaps from the fact that he chose to be upfront with Zayn rather than lie to seem more traveled than he was. “You’re a pro.” 

If he wasn’t half awake and riddled with anxiety, Zayn might have used the open opportunity to flirt with the man. Tell him that he’s a pro at more than just chopsticks, but his brain tells him to get this interrogation over as fast as possible so he can go to sleep and not focus on the fact that Liam had to have done his own amount of staring to notice that Zayn could use the utensils quite well. 

“Believe it or not, a lot of competitions take place in Asia,” Zayn replies, drinking the last of his water before capping it and evaluating whether or not he could make the toss to the bin. 

Liam looks down at Zayn’s empty bowl, “think I could get as good as you by the time we leave?” 

Tossing the empty plastic towards the recycle bin, Zayn watches as the bottle ricochets off the edge and in the opposite direction. Sighing, he uses his strength to stand up and retrieve the bottle. “If you stick by my side, then yeah. We’ll make you a proper local in three weeks time.” Picking up the plastic, Zayn tosses it in the bin, turning around and being met with an attentive Liam. He tries not to smirk too wide at how the man diverts his eyes up from where Zayn squatted down, walking back. “So do you want to take notes or?” 

Clearing his throat, Liam nods and finally sets down his food, wiping off his hands on his track pants so he can reach for his allocated binder with clean fingers. Zayn takes a seat while Liam grabs a pen in the middle of the coffee table. “Ok,” the physio starts, his air completely switching to professional. “As soon as I knew I’d be working with you guys I read up on what I could, including whatever Camden gave us.” 

“What’s my best trick?” 

Liam’s eyes snap up from where he’s writing on the back of Zayn’s profile sheet, “your what?” 

“My best trick,” Zayn repeats with a small yawn. “It’s a pop quiz.” 

He can tell that Liam’s studying him, trying to see if Zayn was just messing about or if he was serious. “Most popular or highest scored?” 

Raising his eyebrows at the clarification question being countered to him, Zayn thinks that this guy must be the best of both worlds: handsome and intelligent. “Never mind,” he dismisses. “Go on with whatever you need.” 

There’s hesitation from Zayn’s backtracking, he can see that in Liam’s facial expressions, but the male seems to let it go after a few moments and look back down at his paper. “I didn’t see that you had any major injuries in the past few years, only a couple broken bones when you were a teenager. That’s pretty impressive for someone who’s sport involves so much precision based on foot landing and aerial placement.” 

“Thanks,” Zayn nods humbly. “I know my body pretty well. Know when to put a new trick into practice and when not to.” Louis might argue that Zayn’s a skateboarding prodigy, that it all comes so naturally to him that he never has to worry about any major spills since he’s not capable of those mistakes, but Zayn vehemently denies the claim every time. Sure he’s been on the top of the charts since he turned pro, but that was from hard work, not strictly god given talent. No one could just wake up one morning and decide to do a heel flip over a flight of stairs, that’d be a death wish. 

“So no new injuries I should know about then?” Liam glances up at Zayn, pen at the ready if he’s given an answer other than no. 

“New?” Zayn shakes his head, “No, but a few years back I hurt my right knee.” Instantly Liam’s jotting down the information, brows knitted together in interest at the mention of the injury. It wasn’t something that Zayn really brought to many people’s attention, so he understood why the man might be surprised to hear about it. 

There were maybe only a couple interviews since it happened where he had spoken of it, so when Liam says that he read about it, but couldn’t find a video of it anywhere online, Zayn’s nearly speechless. 

“You really take your job seriously,” he commends with a tone full of sincerity. 

Liam uses the end of the pen to scratch at his beard. “I do. If I don’t, people like Camden are going to keep calling me ‘kid’ until I have one of my own.” The skater grins at the joke, making note that the guy - not kid - has a decent sense of humour. “There’s some truth to his words though. I don’t have a whole lot of experience with athletes, just general therapy work with the NHS and a private physical therapy firm in London. I’ve worked with a few footballers, but no skateboarders, and definitely no _Olympic_ skateboarders.” He goes to write a couple more notes, speaking while he does. “So, I have a lot to prove. If I didn’t do my homework I’d be doing us all a disservice.” 

Zayn’s got to agree. If one out of the two allotted physios didn’t know all that much besides anatomy, an emergency scenario would probably be a bit haphazard. 

“When was the fall and from how high?” 

In order to answer Liam’s question, Zayn’s really got to think back. “2017,” that much was easy, but assessing the height of the hotel staircase was a lot more difficult. “By the time I was at the end of the rail I was only about two meters off the ground, but the velocity was what screwed me.” Homework or not, Zayn didn’t really think it would help Liam if he flat out said it was from a [nollie front crook](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5p-eTDTxv_c&list=PLUI5xN1_-KQyjaPfLS_XNyLUXa3pdbQJl&index=2&t=0s), unless he revised the never ending catalogue of skate tricks in addition to Zayn’s career. He might ask the male to marry him right then if that was the case. 

“Do you think Niall has any footage of it? I’d like to see for myself how bad the impact was.” Liam’s got his eyes trained on Zayn, hopeful, but not expectant of a positive answer. 

“He used to, but I don’t know if he kept it,” Zayn replies honestly. Just the thought of having to witness the failure again was making his leg ache. 

Liam scribbles a few more thoughts, “And no surgery was needed for it obviously…” 

“Don’t know, never got it checked out,” Zayn shrugs. “I don’t really do the whole trainer, doctor, physical therapy thing.” 

Hearing that the skater cared for himself, Liam’s eyes shot up from his work to grill Zayn’s. “You’ve been pro for over ten years and you doctor yourself?” 

When he put it like that, Zayn figures it sounded pretty bad. “I guess. I mean if I broke something or knew something was seriously wrong then I’d go, but that hasn’t really happened besides my knee. And even then, I’d rather not have surgery and be bed ridden for six months. I can handle the pain.” 

“So you’re in pain?” Liam questions, concern written over his features. 

“Not currently.” Shifting under the stare, Zayn picks at the edamame still on the table. “Not sitting here, you know, but after a few hours of training I might be. Depends on the day.” 

Seeing Liam furiously write makes Zayn slightly nervous, but he doesn’t know why. It’d be stupid of him to lie to someone whose job it was to know this kind of thing, and especially in the environment they were currently in, yet he still feels like he’s being scrutinzed to some degree. This is why he did things his own way. 

“You don’t need me to tell you that that’s not good in the long run,” Liam chastises quickly. “Especially without any sort of proper therapy healing in between.” It’s as if Zayn’s listening to his Mum give him a lecture, except there was no way he’d ever let his Mum in on an injury that wasn’t outwardly apparent; she’d go mad with worry. “You don’t have a set training regimen then either I take it.” 

How was it that Liam’s simple questions could make Zayn feel so idiotic? He knew he should change his habits and hire professionals, but Zayn was stubborn. He could handle his own just fine. 

“Pretty much whatever I feel like I need to work on, I do.” It’s a chill answer, one that will start to have Liam learning not to expect much else from Zayn, but the indifferent phrasing didn’t diminish its truth. “Now, with Camden, I go to the gym more often for conditioning; I never used to do that.” The other male seems to pretty much be done taking notes, probably because there’s not much to write, but Zayn continues anyway. “I know he can come across as a hard ass, but he’s actually a pretty big proponent on just giving advice rather than drilling us to his liking. Suppose skateboarding’s just a different thing to coach than traditional sports.” 

Leaning back against the cushions, more relaxed now that the business that needed to be taken care of was done, Liam closes his binder and sticks the pen behind his ear. The small addition has Zayn’s imagination wondering what Liam looked like as a studious university student, but as another yawn escapes him, Zayn saves the fantasy for another time. 

“Are we good?” He asks, seeing that his action was contagious and now Liam’s yawning as well. “I’ve been up for like twenty hours straight and I really just want to take a nap or sommat.” 

“Sure, yeah,” Liam nods fervently. “I’ll let Kristin know about the knee thing more in depth and we’re neighbors, so if I think of anything else I’ll just knock.” He takes in Zayn’s tired body language, “but not until tomorrow. You should try and get yourself back on track.” 

Zayn wants to ask how long Liam’s been in Tokyo to look as well rested as he did, or if he’s just always naturally this stunning, but bed’s calling. “Thanks,” he grins appreciatively at the physiotherapist. “We can work on your chopstick skills later.” Nodding to the food in between them, Zayn accepts Liam’s smile as recognition. “Look forward to working with you Liam.” He stands and grabs his binder before making his way to the front door, holding himself back from looking over his shoulder to see what expression Liam’s got watching his retreating figure. 

“You too,” the male replies. “Oh and Zayn?” Hand on the door, Zayn turns around. “You’ve got a tie for your highest rated trick. If I had to choose between the two, it’d be the cab flip backside lipslide. Ontario, 2012 SLS.” 

They’re on opposite sides of the room now, but Zayn still searches Liam’s eyes for some sign that he’s cheated the recitation. Licking his lips, Zayn tries to come up with some sort of remark that wouldn’t make him sound as shocked as he felt, Liam clearly proud at being able to impress the athlete. 

“I hope you’re full of a lot more surprises than just that,” Zayn finally comes up with, not moving from his spot until he hears what sort of comeback Liam could think up. 

The man shrugs freely, “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.” 

**Competition Day: +15**

Once Zayn had gotten back to his room and changed into something more comfortable the afternoon before, he passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. He remembers waking up briefly when Louis had come in a few hours later to get him for dinner, but Zayn had waved him away, cursing about how he just wanted to sleep forever. Surprisingly Louis had left him be, bringing over a packet of earplugs for him to use and closing the curtains behind him. Looking over at the sleeping boy splayed out in his bed, body illuminated by the light from Zayn’s mobile screen, the skater thinks that the kind gestures were probably more of a defensive tactic on Louis’ part than anything else. He’d seen what Zayn could be like on little to no sleep. During competition season, he’d do whatever it took to steer clear of the younger lad at all costs if Zayn’s sleep was at all compromised. 

After blinking away the blur to his vision, the numbers on the screen showed that it was a little past 3AM, meaning that he had gotten almost fourteen hours of sleep. 

Comfortable under the covers, Zayn didn’t feel up to moving just yet, but he also knew that his body had had enough rest not to contemplate shutting his eyes again. Instead, he turns the brightness down and scrolls through texts from home, emails, the regular apps. Reaching over to his bedside table, he grabs his headphones to watch some videos and not disturb Louis’ sleep in the process. 

The second Zayn can see sunlight start to filter through the blinds, he takes a deep breath and rolls himself out of bed. As quietly as possible, he gets dressed in black jeans and one of his many Team GB shirts, since he wasn’t sure how far his ride would take him, and Camden had been extremely clear on not wearing any non-approved brands on Olympic property. Lacing up his black and white trainers and grabbing a board from his collection leaned up against the front entrance wall, Zayn made sure that he had his wallet and phone before heading out. 

— 

Looking down both directions of the street in front of the housing high rise, Zayn decides to venture left. 

Instrumental music’s blasting through his headphones, the Tokyo summer humidity not quite in full effect yet at the early hour of five. Zayn remembers his first summer in Asia and how the sweltering heat mixed with humidity suffocated him. The high temperature was enough for the British man to be in shock, but nothing could prepare him for the nonstop stickiness that his arms felt starting at around ten in the morning and continuing well into the late night. He was thankful that he knew that about this area of the world, and how if you soaked a small towel in cold water and spritzed it with eucalyptus spray, the material could keep your neck cold for hours. Tips aside, he was more lucky to know how his body would react and just how many hours he could train at a time before needing to replenish his electrolytes. 

Kick pushing his weight through the quiet street, Zayn took in the foreign symbols on storefronts and ads. An industrial, low income city like Bradford, was a place where not a lot of people get out. Zayn didn’t know if _he_ would ever get out, only because his parents hadn’t, and their financial situation as a family never seemed to afford the opportunity for him or any of his sisters to either. If it wasn’t for skateboarding, he’d probably still be there. Maybe he’d have gone off to university elsewhere, but Zayn knows himself well enough to know that the need to help his family would have made him return to the city sooner or later. 

The rectangle shaped piece of land that the Village sits on in the Tokyo Bay isn’t large, so once Zayn reaches the other end in twenty minutes, he considers his muscles warmed up and starts to skate around to scope out a few obstacles that he can use to practice tricks. It only takes him ten minutes before he finds the perfect double rail and nearby concrete park benches to use as a playground for the next hour or two. However, thirty minutes in and he’s spotting a familiar face jogging towards his area alongside the waters edge. 

“What are you doing awake this early?” Zayn calls out when Liam spots him and changes his path from straight ahead, to up the stairs on his right. As he waits for the male to hop up the numerous steps, he takes a seat at the top, pulling out his Bluetooth earphones and setting them on top of his board. 

“I’m a morning person,” Liam replies raggedly, headphones now around his neck and hands on top of his head as he tries to control his breathing once he’s standing a few steps in front of Zayn. 

There’s a sheen to every exposed piece of skin that Zayn can see, a small imprint of sweat coming through the cotton of the white tank top below the man’s pecs. Compared to Liam’s standing position, Zayn’s seat on the step causes for a vantage point that he can feel makes his gaze come across a lot more dramatic than he’d like, so when Liam’s finally taking a seat next to him, he feels relieved. 

“What about you?” Liam adds, wiping his brow with the bottom of his shirt. “I didn’t take you for the morning type.” 

Any other person and Zayn would’ve gone in on them for the judgement, but he’s too busy trying to act like he didn’t just take a mental image of the skin that was exposed for all of three seconds. “Jetlag,” he answers simply, turning to look out at the water that’s in front of them, beyond the running path. 

“I’ve got pills that can help with that.” 

_Of course you do_ , Zayn thinks to himself fondly. What would a professional person like Liam be if not prepared? 

“I’m good,” he passes, always having hated the idea of any sort of unnecessary medication going into his body, especially this close to a competition. Giving in to his urges, Zayn looks back at Liam’s profile. “So you’re a runner?” 

For a brief second there’s a flash of emotion crossing over the other’s face, one that Zayn can’t quite put his finger on. It wasn’t disappointment, but it wasn’t acceptance either. Maybe regret? 

“I prefer running as my choice of exercise.” It’s a calculated response for a reason, that much Zayn can tell, so he doesn’t push any further. They don’t know each other enough yet for him to be able to identify the windows where he can pry. “Do you run?” 

Zayn shakes his head, “Nah, it’s not my thing. Too boring.” He’s about to look back out at the water, but he stops when he sees Liam smile at the response. “What?” 

Meeting his eyes, Liam just shrugs, “I’m talking to a pro skater who trains himself. I don’t think I should expect all that much variation.” 

“You’re a lot more blunt than you look, you know that?” Staring down at Liam’s lips for a split second, Zayn finally turns his head back to the water. “First the morning person comment and now that. Is this another one of your surprises?” 

“They’re called surprises for a reason,” Liam points out matter of factly. 

It’s the kind of rebuttal that has Zayn clenching his jaw to make sure that he doesn’t visibly show any sign of how enticing he thinks the banter makes Liam out to be. 

When he realizes he’s not going to get a reply, Liam asks another question. “So are you going to check out the Park later?” 

The thought crossed his mind, and Zayn knows that any normal person would, but he’s not ready to take on that reality just yet. Not today. “Maybe tomorrow,” he lets out, bringing his feet up one step higher so he could fold his arms over his knees and rest his chin there. 

From the way that Liam doesn’t respond immediately, Zayn can tell that he’s mulling over his options without looking at him. “Is holding off part of the method to your madness?” The time taken to craft the question makes it so that Liam’s voice is nothing but confident. 

“You could say that,” Zayn divulges, enjoying how this was playing out. 

Liam looks around Zayn’s back to see his board. “How long have you been practicing out here for?” 

“Left the room about an hour ago,” he provides, tilting his head to the right so that it was still flat against his forearms, but now he had a better view of the physio’s birthmark on his lower neck. “Skated the streets before finding this area and I’ve just been doing some grinds for thirty, maybe forty minutes. I don’t tend to keep track of time.” 

“Lemme guess,” Liam interjects, “you listen to what your body tells you?” 

Zayn squints at him playfully, “are you mocking me?” 

“I work in the medical field.” Liam leans his back against the stair rail, body twisted so that it’s facing Zayn. “Hearing that one of my patients pays attention to something that I can’t run a test on is music to my ears.” 

“So you just like getting under my skin then?” The last thing the skater needed was another Louis to add to his group, much less a professional one at that. 

“I like testing the waters,” Liam corrects him, the warm smile telling Zayn all that he needs to know about the motivation behind such a phrase. 

Now that he can see more than half of the man’s face, Zayn can get a proper look at how radiant his skin looks in the early morning sunlight. It’s not as tan as his own, but with enough morning runs, it could be. He hasn’t shaven either, the growth not terribly noticeable, but enough for Zayn to imagine the difference in texture from the day prior to now. 

He drags his eyes back to Liam’s’, “Suppose now would be a good time to tell you that I don’t swim.” 

“I’ll be sure to add it to my notes later.” Zayn locks his jaw once more. “So can I see a trick or two?” 

For a second Zayn’s forgotten all about his board. “What do I get in return?” He’s asking the question while standing, the position clearly a sign of relinquished power - something that Liam could easily use against him. 

“A roar of applause,” Liam returns, getting off the ground himself and stepping off to the side so as to not be in the way. 

“As loud as the stadium?” Shoving his headphones into his pockets, Zayn starts to make his way up the second set of stairs behind them, not wanting to appear rude to the other by drowning out his voice with melodies. 

“Two of them put together,” Liam confirms, going back to placing his clasped hands above his head, tank top inching up at the stretched out position. 

As he ascends the steps, Zayn’s glad that Liam can’t see the way the corners of his lips pull upwards at the response. It’s far too cheeky and innocent at the same time for him to simply write off. “Do you have any requests?” 

“You’re stalling,” the man calls out from behind. 

“I’ve got nothing to stall about,” Zayn shouts, nearly at the top of the steps. “I’m at the Olympics, am I not?” 

Zayn would definitely classify himself as modest, a soft spoken person, both regarding his skateboarding skills, as well as how he carries himself overall. In a business setting he knew when he had to talk about his abilities realistically, but career meetings aside, he generally stayed away from bragging about his talents. For whatever reason, he felt comfortable around Liam, enough to know that the physio wouldn’t use his words against him in any other way than the humourous meanor he intended them for. 

“Whatever your body feels like giving me then.” 

Standing at the top of the stairs, Zayn raises his eyebrows at Liam. From where he’s standing, he can’t tell if Liam means for there to be any sort of innuendo mixed into the statement, his neutral tone not allowing room for interpretation. 

“On land, right?” Zayn counters, taking a few steps backwards to watch Liam’s reaction, before turning around and walking away from the steps to give himself ample space to be able to gain the necessary amount of speed. “Not the Pacific Ocean?” 

Liam drops his hands and lets his right grip his upper left arm. “Middle of the Sahara Desert!” 

Satisfied with what he’s heard, Zayn takes a deep breath as he examines the double stairset. He takes a few steps forward before he throws his board in front of him, immediately pushing with his left leg to gain enough forward motion to get the height he needs when he uses his back foot to pop the board up onto the first rail, sliding down it with ease. As soon as he runs out of metal, the man lands on the concrete, kick pushing his way to the second set of stairs, which he braces his knees for by bending them as low as he can to get the maximum air once he pushes up on the board’s back tail right at the first step. Under his feet Zayn can almost feel the wood twist around itself, as well as counterclockwise. The suspension lasts no more than three seconds, but the rush makes it feel like thirty. Since he’s falling from such a high starting point, the shock of the landing’s rough, but Zayn makes the absorption seem easy. 

Twisting his body sharply to the left, Zayn’s wheels skid along the pavement, causing an ear piercing squeak and grinding noise. When he hops off, the board continues to move forward, Zayn’s body doing the same from the momentum that it still has. 

Liam’s clapping can be heard from the bottom of the stairs and when Zayn looks up, he can see that the male’s doing his best to clap as quickly as possible; his endeavour at trying to amass the same amount of noise as two stadiums, a valiant effort in Zayn’s books. 

“And the crowd goes wild!” He shouts after catching himself and going back to retrieve the drifting wooden board. 

A light offshore breeze makes Liam pull at his top, trying to get the wind to travel underneath it. “It’s a lot crazier to see in person than on a fifteen inch screen.” 

“Feels even crazier,” Zayn smiles, the adrenaline still clearly pumping through him as he makes his way back up the stairs. 

“I don’t really scare all that easy,” Liam confesses, “but I reckon I’d be terrified to try anything like that.” 

“You start small and work your way up.” Skipping every other step, Zayn can feel his calves start to burn. “Twenty four years in the making.” 

Liam’s eyes focus on the board Zayn’s carrying as he watches the other come closer. “How’d you even fit on that thing when you were three?” 

The skater glances down at his weapon of choice. “There’s different sized boards,” he enlightens. 

“Oh…” 

Now in front of Liam, Zayn smirks at how he seems to be inwardly criticizing himself at how elementary the answer to his own question was. “Looks like you didn’t do all your homework after all,” Zayn muses, placing his board on the rail that separated them and leaning his body on the wood. 

“I needed to know about your career,” Liam says in a sarcastic tone. “Not what your favourite stuffed animal was.” 

Not liking how the deck pressed into his chest, Zayn stands up straight once more, dropping the board on the ground next to him. “Give it a guess,” he challenges, wondering what answers the invitation might conjure up. 

Liam sizes up the man, giving him a benign once over. “Snake.” 

“No way dude,” Zayn laughs, eyes big in wild horror. “Fuck snakes.” 

Liam points to his arm, unimpressed. “You’ve got a tattoo of one on your shoulder.” 

Looking down, Zayn can see that the snake’s head is peeking out from where he’s rolled up his t-shirt sleeves. “Yeah, and I’ve got a tiger on the other one.” He shrugs his left shoulder. “No one said anything about them not _looking_ sick.” 

From the way Liam shifts his weight to one leg, Zayn can tell he’s amused. “So if not a snake, then what?” 

“A giraffe,” Zayn answers easily. 

Liam quirks up an eyebrow in fascination, “I’m listening…” 

When there’s no ridicule being made at the animal, Zayn figures the guy must be genuinely interested in what he has to say. “There’s not much to it. Went to the zoo when I was like four and just thought it was sick how tall they were compared to me.” 

“Do you still have it?” Liam asks, vision honed in on what’s visible of the aforementioned tiger. 

“It’s at my Mum’s house somewhere for sure.” He remembers seeing it when he helped them pack up their old house, but he wasn’t sure what room it ended up in at the new place. “What about you?” Zayn does his own fake studying of the boy’s appearance to come up with an educated guess. “I take you for a dinosaur kind of guy. Or lion, if we’re going by tattoos.” 

Liam’s choice of tank top lends itself to Zayn’s observation, making it so that had a good excuse as to how he knew what ink the other had, rather than only identifying it based on acute staring. 

“It’s my family coat of arms.” Liam pulls at the skin Zayn’s brought attention to. “But yeah, it was a dinosaur.” His eyes go back to Zayn’s, curious as to how someone could pick out something so random. “How’d you know? 

“I’m psychic,” Zayn teases. “It’s one of _my_ surprises.” 

At the sound of his phrase being claimed by the other, Liam licks his lips swiftly with interest. “Oh so you have some too?” 

Zayn tilts his head to the side, “Doesn’t everyone?” He can tell that his poignant reply was up to Liam’s standards by the way the man keeps Zayn’s stare. “What’s your Dino’s origin story?” 

Sounds from a nearby garbage truck take Liam’s attention away for a second before he has the chance to answer. “My Grandad gave it to me when I went down to visit him in Cornwall one summer. I was around three or four.” He kicks at the concrete, looking down. “About the same age as you got yours.” 

“Did it have a name?” Zayn asks curiously. 

Liam tilts his head up just enough to glance at the skater for a split second, “Rex.” 

There’s no holding back the chuckle that falls from Zayn’s lips, “Very original.” 

“I was three,” Liam defends, his vision directed back down at the ground. “My imagination wasn’t what it is today.” 

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” 

Liam’s smile widening proves to Zayn that they’re both still on the same page with their light hearted discourse. “Don’t suppose you named your giraffe Geoffrey.” 

Just knowing what sort of reaction his answer’s going to give Liam makes Zayn contemplate lying, but he thinks that it’s a stupid thing to lie about, so he prepares himself after saying, “his name was Spot”. 

Zayn can feel himself grin when he hears Liam’s laugh for the first time. There are crinkles around the edges of the man’s eyes from his cheeks pushing up, pupils completely overtaken by his eyelids. He doesn’t even care that his choice of name is the reason behind the hilarity, loving the image it’s afforded him too much to be offended. 

“And _I’m_ the one with the lack of creativity?” Liam finally questions. 

Zayn shakes his head in good nature, “We’ll call it even.” 

Captivated by who the person in front of him was, Zayn doesn’t take his eyes off Liam, even as the man examines their surroundings. “How much longer do you think you’ll be out here?” 

“Until I get too tired,” Zayn says truthfully. 

He hadn’t been at it for very long, but skateboarding street was like interval training. Short bursts of high energy were what made up the sport, not like Louis’ park style competitions that were based on forty second runs in bowls and relied on a mix of endurance and momentum to perform tricks in the air. Pacing himself came from Zayn knowing how to balance the five or six second tricks over time without wearing himself out too soon from the intense power and concentration each required. 

“Right, of course.” Liam doesn’t need to add on the part about how well Zayn knows his body, they both understand. “Well I’ve got a supplies meeting with France and Germany at nine so I should start to make my way back.” 

Not wanting to damage his phone, Zayn had placed it, along with his wallet, on one of the nearby benches when he had started to practice. At this point, he only had his biological clock to go by to estimate how long it had been since then. “What time is it now?” 

Liam checks the smartwatch on his left wrist, “Quarter to six.” 

There’s no need for Zayn to calculate the exact amount in his head, he knows that Liam’s got plenty of time to get back to his room before nine. “You didn’t seem like a slow runner when I saw you.” 

Zayn meant what he said, Liam really did seem to have an above average speed when he had watched him approach where Zayn was practicing, but he regrets putting the comical spin on his remark when he sees the male’s eyes cast downwards to try and hide whatever emotions it evoked. “I want to shower and go over some notes before I meet up with them for breakfast.” The humourless response gives Zayn pangs of guilt. “Don’t hurt yourself,” Liam adds as he looks up at the other briefly before starting his way back down the steps and towards the walking path. 

Left standing on his own, Zayn’s got several emotions swimming through him. Firstly, he’s confused on why Liam’s attitude had completely changed at the flip of a switch. It was the second time since the two had stumbled across each other that Zayn had said something worthy enough to throw the male off. He thought they were in sync with the mood of the conversation, but Zayn made a mental note to never even jokingly talk about Liam’s running again. Besides the frustration of not knowing exactly what to avoid to keep Liam happy, Zayn felt a streak of panic rush through him at the thought of picking up an injury. 

When he had first started skating, hurting himself was something that never deterred the boy from practicing. It was simply something that came with the territory of learning something as active as skateboarding, but the older and more seasoned his career became, the more the threat of a serious injury altering his life added to his anxiety. 

“You’re on speed dial if I do!” The words are Zayn’s best attempt at trying to smooth things over, for both of their emotional sakes. 

Before putting his earbuds in, Liam glances up at Zayn from the footpath, tight lipped smile evident. “Good!” 

Watching as Liam takes off back towards the Village, Zayn exhales loudly. He feels for his earphones as he turns and hops back on his board, drifting over to where his phone was to pick the right song to go back to practicing with. 

**Competition Day: +14**

For the past twenty four hours, practically everything Zayn had heard come out of Louis’ mouth was about Harry. As soon as he had gotten back from his morning session the day before, the two were already in the dining hall of the building with Niall, waiting for him. 

The guy seemed as nice as he looked, charming just like Zayn had picked up on the first day, but the more time they spent together, the more he realized that he wasn’t sure the charisma was something Harry turned on and off on purpose. It might not even be something he’s aware he has in the first place. Nevertheless, the chemistry that he and Louis have with one another was more than apparent. 

The two shared a lengthy conversation about the city when Louis went off to the venue on his own yesterday afternoon, Zayn sticking to what he had told Liam earlier in the day about not being up to it yet. Turns out Harry’s parents got divorced when he was a child, leaving him to spend the school year in England and summers with his Father in Tokyo, where the man had relocated after the split. Post university, he moved to the city permanently to work for his Dad’s ad agency company. 

Zayn has to give it to him. For someone so young, he’s accomplished quite a lot, and the headstrong attitude, alongside his gregarious nature, has Zayn understanding why Louis would be so caught up with the man. 

Even so, he can’t blame Niall for getting sick of hearing the other skater continue to go on about Harry that morning. 

Sparing them both, Zayn agreed to finally go and check out the official skatepark after they ate. The team had been given the design of the course nearly six months prior, but like any competition and its layout, you couldn’t fully understand what you were in for until you were able to see the dimensions in person. 

Standing on the tallest grindbox, Zayn examined the park, liking what he saw, but still having to do his best to shove down the nerves that were begging to take over his system now that he was physically surrounded by the taunting stage. After almost four hours of straight practice and nearly blowing out his earphones from doing his best to stifle his negative thoughts, Zayn could see himself start to fall in love with the park’s plan. It was beautifully crafted, he just wished that he was skating it under less pressured circumstances. 

Now, he was knocking on Liam’s door, hoping that the physio was inside since he hadn’t bothered to text and make sure on the way over from the venue. 

“Hi,” Liam greets from beside the open door, Zayn immediately feeling relieved at the familiar face and its friendly smile. “You alright?” 

“Do you have any epsom salt?” Zayn’s question hangs in the air as the two take in each other’s appearance, sunlight from the room’s opened curtains framing Liam’s outline and making him seem powerful. 

“Uh, yeah, one second,” the man replies, disrupting the shadow and stepping back, pulling the door with him. “Come in.” Zayn doesn’t hesitate to step forward. “It’s for you, yeah?” 

The further he walks into the room, the more Zayn realizes that his theory on hotel rooms and housing places like this is true: location rarely ever matters, they all look the same. “Yeah,” he finally responds to Liam’s question. “I just got back from the park. I usually soak in some after a long practice.” 

Rather than joining Zayn in the living area of the unit, Liam turns into the small kitchen nook. “Ice or hot?” 

Zayn takes a seat on the bed that looks to be Liam’s, the dress laid out on the opposite one giving away Kristin’s sleeping arrangements. “Hot, I don’t fuck with the cold.” 

“So no snakes or freezing temperatures,” Liam notes as he rummages through the cabinets to the left of the fridge. “Got it.” 

The sounds are what grab Zayn’s attention initially, but when he looks over, the way Liam’s shoulder muscles move under his shirt as he reaches for the shelf’s contents becomes his new target of interest 

“Yeah,”he says distracted. “Like, you know how people sometimes ask you, would you rather it be burning hot or dangerously cold? I don’t even need to think.” 

Liam pulls down a couple rectangular cartons. “Where’d you grow up again?” 

“The North. Bradford.” Stretching his neck to be able to look over the breakfast bar, Zayn appreciates the Calvin Klein band that sticks out from Liam’s track bottoms. He wonders if they’re briefs or trunks. 

“That’s what I thought,” Liam comments, Zayn not bothered enough to ask if that was part of his background research or if his thick accent gave it away; his eyes were preoccupied. “How’d you survive up there?” 

With shirt covering underwear, Zayn’s eyes look up in time to see Liam take a single container and make his way out of the kitchen. “Barely,” Zayn replies, almost forgetting that he was asked a question during his time pretending to look like he was staring at the forgotten television show that had been on in the background. 

“Here,” Liam hands over the salts, leaning against the wall opposite where Zayn was sat. 

“Thanks,” the male says with a small smile, checking out the cardboard-like packaging and seeing that it was his usual British brand, not a foreign Japanese label like he had expected. 

“So you don’t go without aftercare completely then.” 

Liam’s voice makes Zayn look up at him, noting the hints of thankfulness in his tone and facial expression. “I’m not invincible, no,” he jeers. 

“Hey, I didn’t know,” Liam holds his palms out in show of his harmless intent. “You’ve made it clear that you don’t exactly follow the norms of regular athletes. It’s plausible you’re Superman.” 

After their run in yesterday, Zayn was cautious towards joking with Liam, not wanting to hit another unknown sore spot, but he took the other’s lead as the sign he could switch from yellow to green. “Except I’m very obviously Spiderman.” His features relax when Liam’s eyes begin to bunch at the smile Zayn’s superhero counter creates. “Are you busy?” 

Liam shakes his head, “No, I was just watching some tv.” 

Zayn’s eyes flicker over to the subtitled drama that was on. “You want to come keep me company?” 

When he looks back at the man in front of him, Zayn can see that he’s made him flustered. “In the bath?” 

“I’ll leave my pants on and you can sit on the sink,” he reassures. “Continue to scold me about how I should be doing a lot more than just soaking in water and sulfates as a recovery method.” 

Hearing that Zayn wasn’t inviting him to simply gawk at his naked figure, Liam drops his surprised look. “Well you should,” the male retorts. “Did you at least eat something for a post-workout?” He pushes off the wall, retrieving the remote for the tv and turning it off. 

“Had a protein shake on the ride back,” Zayn informs him, following Liam out of the room and towards his own. 

“Good.” Liam waits as Zayn keys in the room code and unlocks the door. “So do you like the park?” 

“It’s insane,” Zayn replies enthusiastically as he holds open the door for Liam before entering himself. “I mean, I’ve known what it’s going to look like for a while now, but getting out there and tearing it up is another story.” He leaves out how daunting being there was, instead watching Liam stare at the countless skateboards lining the entryway wall - some full and some just blank decks. 

As he walks into the bathroom, he can hear Liam say, “I look forward to watching you.” It elicits a smirk from Zayn, who takes the words literally _and_ suggestively based on the running water he’s just turned on for the bath Liam was about to watch him take. 

“Well you’ve still got a couple weeks before that,” he replies while stripping off his black t-shirt and tossing it onto the tile floor in the corner. 

“Am I banned from practices?” Liam asks, Zayn able to tell that he’s still checking out the boards from the way his volume hasn’t changed. 

“Not as long as you keep providing me with this,” he peeks his upper half out of the doorway to shake the epsom salt container at Liam as a reference to what he meant. 

At first, Liam doesn’t budge, still transfixed by the different designs on the wood, but when he sees the movement of the canister, he does a double take. 

It wasn’t as if Zayn didn’t make it clear to Liam what joining him entailed, but he thinks the lack of warning that he was already shirtless is what’s making Liam try and cover up his stunned response by diverting his eyes back to the boards. 

“They’re not all that hard to come by,” he tells Zayn. “I’m sure Harry could get you some at a local pharmacy.” 

Seeing what his body’s done to the other, Zayn smirks to himself, glad that he’s able to confirm that their attraction’s a two way street, and proud at just how much. He doesn’t have a particularly muscular build, his non-human metabolism a contributing factor to that, but he knows being a professional athlete is mainly to blame for the cuts and definition that his otherwise wiry frame might not normally have. “Are you trying to get banned?” He asks, opting to take off his jeans right where he was standing after kicking off his shoes and socks, so as to not surprise Liam again when he sees that the only clothing left on Zayn is a pair of Tommy Hilfiger boxer briefs. 

The physio holds a much more controlled expression when he glances at Zayn the second time, holding his stare. Rather than speaking, he makes a zipping motion with his fingers against his lips, miming throwing away the key behind his shoulder to go along with it. 

He hasn’t known Liam for very long, but Zayn thinks that the response fits the man perfectly. “So what’d you do today?” Like he did with his shirt, Zayn throws the trousers in the corner, nodding his head into the room as an invitation for Liam to follow. 

“Went over inventory this morning, but that’s pretty much it.” Liam hops up onto the marble sink after joining Zayn in the washroom, legs dangling against the black panels of the bottom cabinets. “It’s been a boring day. Skyped my parents not too long ago. Showed them the view.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and places it near Zayn’s monogrammed doppler kit so that it didn’t press into his thigh awkwardly. “We could never really afford much traveling growing up, so this was big for them: to see me get to do something like this.” 

Zayn runs his hand under the water to make sure that it’s still hot enough. “It was the same way with mine.” Seeing that it’s to his liking, he moves on to open the salt box. “Traveling around England to compete was one thing, but once I started having to fly to events, they were besides themselves.” 

“Are they here?” 

The seal cracks, Zayn pushing the edges together like he was opening a carton of milk. “In Japan?” 

“Yeah,” Liam confirms. 

“No, they couldn’t get off work.” Zayn pours a good amount of the salt into the nearly full, white bathtub, not bothering to mix it in since he knows that when his body sinks into the water, that’ll do a good enough job. 

“Not even to watch their son in the Olympics?” 

Handing the box blindly to Liam behind him, Zayn hooks his left leg over the edge of the tub and eases himself in. “I may have become all big and famous according to them, but they’re still the same hardworking people. My sisters too.” 

“How many do you have?” Liam questions further as the skater turns off the faucet. 

Zayn turns his head to face the male, body completely relaxed as he lets the heat take over his senses in a painfully satisfying way. “Three,” he answers simply. 

Liam’s hands play with the drawstrings of his trousers. “Brothers?” 

“Nah, it’s just me.” Leaning his head back, Zayn really wishes that he could fall asleep right then and there, the steam coming off the water making him even more at ease. 

“I’ve got two sisters of me own,” Liam reveals. “So I know how you feel.” 

“Were you born and raised in London?” He remembers Camden mentioning that the boy worked in the capital, but Zayn hadn’t been given a heads up to do his own homework on the physio, like he had been able to with Zayn. 

Liam continues to pick at the strings, “No, no, just moved there after school. I’m from Wolverhampton.” 

“Hmmm,” Zayn hums in response, eyes now closed in bliss. 

The room falls quiet, and surprisingly enough, Zayn doesn’t find it uncomfortable. For a second he wonders what Louis would think if he came through the door and witnessed the two of them in such a vulnerable position. Liam’s his physio, it wasn’t completely out of character for him to be where he was, but if Zayn peaked open an eye, he would bet he’d see the boy doing a lot more observing than what’s outlined in his job description. 

“Does your knee hurt?” Liam asks after a couple minutes of silence, Zayn finally opening his eyes and seeing the man staring into the water at his leg. 

“A bit, yeah.” The other’s brown eyes meet his, Zayn not missing the way Liam’s’ dip down to the ink scattered along his neck and collarbone for a split second, but he chooses to stare cautiously at the male for another reason. “You can take a look at it afterwards if you want.” 

Liam’s eyebrows rise just barely at hearing he was able to do something Zayn had mentioned he was typically against. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn repeats, not fully sure of the answer himself, but there’s something in his gut telling him to give Liam a chance. 

The two stay staring at each other for a few moments longer before Liam starts to talk about what it was like growing up in smaller city and the things his older sisters used to make him do as a kid, Zayn giving his two cents on both topics when he saw fit. They had a lot in common, more than Zayn would have thought, and he’s enjoying hearing all the details Liam offers about his life that give Zayn a glimpse into who he is beyond tactical remarks and sports science. 

Once Liam finishes a story on when he got locked out of his room in uni with only a towel on, Zayn estimates that he’s been in the water long enough. Plus, the temperature was starting to drop and he wasn’t the biggest fan of luke warm baths. 

“And that’s why I didn’t go to uni,” he laughs, gripping the edge of the tub as he got out. 

Liam’s quick to hand him a towel from the metal rack, “That’s part of the reason I _did_ go to uni. I needed a helpful shove to get out of my comfort zone when I was younger.” 

“I’d love to see pictures,” Zayn thinks out loud as he dries off his arms and chest, barely surprised that the man was more reserved when he was coming into himself. As much as he could hold his own in a conversation, Liam’s underlying caring nature gave Zayn all that he needed to know to come to that conclusion. 

“Of when I was in school?” Jumping off the sink, Liam steps out of the room when he sees that Zayn’s going to need to take off his underwear to fully dry off. 

“Yeah.” Since he’s on his own now, Zayn strips himself of his soaked pants and wipes down his legs. “I want to see you during your straight edge phase.” He wraps the towel around his waist and walks out towards the clothing drawers. “Assuming you’re not still in it.” 

“Did you miss the part where I graduated and got my Masters?” 

Zayn can hear the glare in Liam’s voice as he picks out a fresh pair of boxer briefs and cloth shorts. “Louis’ll be the judge on whether the antics back then really left an impression or not,” he says as he turns around to face Liam sat on his bed. “Let me wash my hair and you can play doctor on my knee, yeah?” 

Zayn can’t help himself when he leans his body more to the right so that his abs clench tighter, smug as he could possibly be when Liam’s eyes go from his face down to his navel. Unlike his two best mates, Zayn wasn’t the type to be outward with his emotions, instead tending to keep things to himself, so when he doesn’t get a response to his question from Liam straight away, he simply walks back into the bathroom to change and rid himself of the last remnants of training without any comment. 

When he resurfaces a few minutes later, freshened up and tossing on a new shirt, Liam’s a lot more composed, leaning back against the headboard of Zayn’s bed, shoes off. 

“Here,” he hands over his phone when Zayn’s joining him on the queen sized mattress. 

There’s no context, so Zayn’s not sure what to expect, but when he sees the photos titled ‘Undergrad and Younger’, he’s chuckling. “You’ve got a folder for old pictures?” 

“I like to be organized,” Liam replies while scooting over to make room for the other male. 

Scrolling through the images, Zayn smiles at the memories on display. “You’re really not helping your case with being out of the teacher’s pet classification.” 

Liam leans up and sits cross legged at Zayn’s side. “I’ve got plenty of time to prove myself.” Carefully he inches closer to the skater’s knee area. “Do you still feel any pain after the bath?” 

“Not as much, but there’s a dull ache lingering.” Zayn waits until he’s done surveying a picture of what looks to be a nine or ten year old Liam posing with a knock off Merlin impersonator, before glancing up to see the adult staring intently at his leg. “It’s second nature, so I have to think about it now that you’re asking.” 

“I’m gonna press on a few points and you tell me if it makes it worse,” the boy warns, first placing his whole palm around the full knee cap, then moving on to probing the surrounding area with his index and pointer finger. 

Zayn forgets about the mobile in his hand, watching Liam do his work and taking note at how thorough he could be while also having such a soft approach. The physio presses on an inner corner that changes Zayn’s guise from transfixed to a grimace. “There,” he hisses, Liam immediately letting up on the pressure, but still feeling around the region. “It felt like when you would push on a bruise,” Zayn elaborates. 

Liam’s eyes are focused on the skin, as if he has some sort of x-ray vision that would allow him to see what’s going on underneath. “Really wish you had an MRI scan…” Moving on to assessing behind the knee cap, he looks straight forward, across the room so as to concentrate on his sense of touch. “Good news is that there’s no major inflammation after the bath, so my gut tells me that it’s just scarred tissue from a meniscus tear, or something along those lines.” He removes his hand and feels the left knee quickly. “But you really would benefit from having surgery to clean the area out.” 

“Like I said, not interested,” Zayn reminds him, wondering if his instinct was wrong. He shouldn’t have let Liam go ahead, only to tell him something that he already knew, and didn’t care to hear more of. 

“If you win Gold, will you at least think about it?” Liam’s sitting back now, hands in his lap. “That’s the highest honour you could ever achieve, I think you can take some time off once the season’s over and recover from it properly.” 

More things he’s already aware of. “If I say yes, will you let it go?” 

“Probably not,” Liam answers petulantly. The way the man’s features are unmoved, Zayn knows he can’t win this fight. 

“Fine,” he relents. “But tell your Mum that she’s going to need to send you more embarrassing shots as a supplementary.” Zayn hands over the phone, the screen already having locked itself. 

“I can do that,” Liam agrees effortlessly as he takes back the device. 

Regardless of whether or not Zayn’s request was real, the fact that the boy replied as if it was, and with such a genuine answer, made Zayn see how seriously Liam took the athlete’s healing. 

“In the meantime,” Liam adds. “We should try and experiment with wrapping it differently after your practices. Maybe tape it while you skate, just to see if it helps any.” 

Based on how willing and capable Liam was proving himself to be, Zayn held his tongue from saying that perhaps _now_ of all times wasn’t the best to experiment with techniques. “As long as it doesn’t mess with my performance, than I guess we can.” 

Liam hardly blinks. “Starting now?” 

Looking at the other male, Zayn can’t believe that this is the same guy who was at a loss for words five minutes ago from a bit of shirtless antics. He’s completely defenseless, watching Zayn watch him, like he’s just waiting for the word and then it’s game on. The reaction isn’t even necessary is the thing. Given their relation to one another, Zayn thinks that Liam’s actually the one with the authoritative power, Camden probably having told him just that when he had gone over the type of athlete Zayn was. 

Hearing Liam’s non-forceful approach leaves Zayn no choice but to say “sure”, eyes tracking the man’s body as he gets up to retrieve what he needs from the other room in attraction from the complexity that Zayn’s discovering behind the handsome face. 

**Competition Day: +13**

No one needs to tell Zayn how many people are waiting in the stands above him. He can hear their screams, can _feel_ the sound in his chest from the roar of the decibels. And that’s just those who are seated in the Olympic Stadium right then and there. It’s not counting the millions upon millions of people tuning in on any type of electronic that’s got the ability to receive a signal. Maybe not that many people would watch his performance, skateboarding was new to the Olympics this year after all, but **_everyone_** watched the Opening Ceremony. 

Louis picked up on Zayn’s nervous energy hours before when they were sitting around the extreme sports table at the Team GB pre-ceremony dinner. In his head, Zayn knew it was irrational. All they were going to do was wait two or three hours huddled between Georgia and Grenada with the rest of the British athletes, shuffling closer to the arena tunnel until they heard their country’s name. From there, all they had to do was walk across the field and exit through a tunnel on the opposite end. It required literally zero skill, other than to put both legs in front of the other and smile, but Zayn’s emotions didn’t think that black and white when it came to The Games. 

Being acknowledged like this, even alongside hundreds of other competitors with his same accent, made it so that Zayn couldn’t hide if he lost spectacularly. The second he qualified for his spot he couldn’t hide, but finally being in Tokyo made things that much more real, forcing Zayn to realize that there was no backing out now, performance anxiety or not. 

The second he and Louis are walking out into the open air, Zayn’s emotions become numb. It’s how things always go. He thinks that it’s from all the adrenaline and the fact that he’s thrown in the spotlight in a way that it’s do or die, so his instincts kick in enough to not let him perish. 

For a minute or two on the long march, Zayn feels pride swell in his chest at how far he’s come and how his body’s decorated in his home country's colours - a reminder that he’s there not just for himself, but to represent a whole _nation_. Like usual when they’re together and in front of cameras, Louis slings his arm around Zayn’s shoulders, the younger man letting himself smile at being able to share the moment with someone he loves. 

They walk into the after party at the Olympic Village in the same position. 

“Are you still on a high, like I am?” Louis nudges Zayn’s side with his elbow as they walk up to an abandoned table. 

What’s got to be the entirety of the Olympic Village has trickled into the banquet hall turned club for the night. The setting reminds Zayn of all the ridiculous nights that he and the boy next to him got trashed when they were younger and felt on top of the world living on their own and making decent money winning championships. 

“A bit, yeah,” Zayn replies loudly so he can be heard over the blaring music. 

Just like anyone else, the two grew out of their incessant partying phase when they dubbed the scenes too repetitive after years of the same light shows and lyricless beats. But every once and awhile, when they were both in a new city together or when one of them would come back to London with a new trophy, they’d venture out to celebrate with one too many jager bombs and a few drunken lipstick stains. Or cologne swaps, those were always good too. 

“That was incredible.” Zayn almost asks what his friend’s referring to, but then it dawns on him where they’ve all just come from. “Shame we can’t go out on the town tonight,” Louis says with his head leaned towards Zayn so he doesn’t have to shout. “But this doesn’t look like a half bad replacement.” 

A buzz from his pocket has Zayn taking out his phone and seeing that Niall’s just texted him that he, Liam, and Harry just pulled up outside. 

After the ceremony, all athletes were ushered into coaches that took them back to the Village in order to avoid any hectic attention that was sure to have ensued after the ceremony if any of them stuck around, the staff and volunteers getting the second round of private transport once all the countries were announced. It left Zayn and Louis enough time to go up and change out of their required British kit and into something more their style - ripped jeans and t-shirts. 

“Are you going to spend the night with your suitor?” 

Once he sends off a quick ‘we’re inside the hall’, Zayn pockets his phone and goes back to giving Louis his attention. “If you’re referring to Liam, I don’t even want to know what you call Harry at this point.” 

Four days in and Zayn was starting to wonder if, what started out as a lucky match up to kick off the Village adventures, was turning into something way more than that. He was serious about the pre-hookup text alert, but so far, he hadn’t received a single one, and that’s not because the two weren’t sharing the same bed (Zayn had heard far too many details about what their sleepovers entailed each morning at breakfast), but because that bed was Harry’s. If it weren’t for the amount of time the newcomer spent with them throughout the day doing his job, Zayn would have reservations about Louis being so willing to trust a stranger in a foreign city. 

“You really don’t,” Louis lets him know with a smug smile. Zayn doesn’t need to agree out loud, his own deadpan expression says it for him. “So?” The boy prods, when Zayn looks over at the front doors. 

“So what?” The younger male asks as his eyes continue to scan the people who filter in for three specific faces. 

“Are you going to need the room for tonight?” 

_Not this again_ , Zayn thinks to himself. 

“No, I’m not looking to get laid.” He looks Louis in the eye, “I need to focus.” 

“Last I checked, I’m the one with the competition in two days, not you.” Louis’ eyebrows are raised in confidence, the man knowing that Zayn can’t argue himself out of this one. 

The gaze gives Zayn a guilty feeling, rendering him quiet. He’s not usually like this - fun adverse. Ever since he could remember he was always the chillest person in the room, up for anything so long as he wouldn’t land behind bars or his parents would be disappointed in him. Being a part of skateboarding culture fit Zayn, marvelously in fact, but when he had an impending event, he let his anxiety override his laid back personality. Thankfully Louis knows this better than anyone. 

“Don’t you think it’ll help you loosen up some?” Louis asks, demeanor changing from accusatory to that of real concern. “You said he wasn’t straight.” 

Zayn takes a deep breath, going back to exploring the types of people around them. “Just because he likes my body doesn’t mean he wants to sleep with me.” 

“Explain the laws of attraction then,” Louis contests. 

To his right, Zayn can see a petite brunette eyeing him while speaking to a close friend. “I’ll pass,” he tells Louis, sending the girl a simple smile. One degree further and he could have the - gymnast? Equestrian? Whichever sport, he could have her in the palm of his hand, but Zayn kept his composure to a friendly one. 

Louis looks over and sees the girl, shaking his head at Zayn’s lack of ability to believe in different ways to fight his anxiety, rather than give in to it. “Ok, but at least get tipsy with me tonight.” 

“Deal,” Zayn agrees, grateful that with Louis’ event so soon, he didn’t have to get fully drunk for the man to be satisfied he was relaxing somewhat. 

“Lads, that was crazy!” Niall’s exclamation takes Zayn by surprise, the Irishman coming into view from behind him. “You’ve got to see the footage I got.” 

“Seats were good then?” Louis’ addressing the group of three, but his eyes only seem to stay on Harry. 

“Ace,” Liam declares with a smile and trailing eyes that look like they’re trying to grasp how he ended up here. 

“Well the night’s still young!” Never one to not want to have a good time, Louis points to the open bar on the far end of the room. “First round of shots together, come on.” 

Zayn looks at Liam to see if he’s going to act responsible, considering his role, but the skater’s only met with an open hand gesturing for Zayn to go in front of him and lead the way. 

For the most part, Louis knows his limits, but when he and Harry are “calling it a night”, Zayn hopes he sticks to his promise of staying tipsy without having a friend there to play enforcer. Lothario Niall left the group long before, doing his rounds to scope out who was worth getting to know. 

“Do you want to dance?” Zayn asks over the music, staring at Liam’s jawline as the male bobs his head back and forth to the beat while he checks his phone. 

Disregarding whatever he was typing, Liam looks up with a surprised glint in his eyes. “You like to dance?” 

“Not usually, but I’m feeling brave thanks to the Fireball.” Zayn holds up the glass of auburn brown liquid before taking a small sip. He’s got a good buzz going thanks to the heavy handed bartender and Harry’s insisting that they try a few Japanese cocktails. But he’s let Liam order for the both of them this last trip to the counter, thankful that the male’s got a less eccentric pallet than the tall advertiser. 

Liam considers what Zayn’s said, but he’s not quick to answer. “You could have your pick of the lot.” 

Smiling around his glass, Zayn lets the cinnamon taste coat the back of his mouth before swallowing. “So could you,” he counters, watching as Liam breaks their gaze, too shy at being complimented to stay staring. “I pick you.” 

He doesn’t need Liam to tell him that he’s got the face to get what he wants, Zayn’s known that for quite some time now thanks to the millions of followers online that he’s accumulated since his first sponsored clothing shoot. The pictures put him on a lot of people’s radars, men and women alike, who didn’t already know him for his heel flips. When he sees Liam turn his vision back to him, he sets his glass down on the high table they’re stood around. 

“Look,” Liam starts, Zayn picking up on the exasperated tone being used and guessing that meant it wasn’t going to be a good answer. “We work together, and I’d very much like to keep my job. Maybe even get something out of it.” Focusing on the people behind Zayn’s shoulder, Liam bites his bottom lip. “And I don’t care to add to the Village sexcapades.” 

Humoured by Liam’s assumption, Zayn corrects him. “Who said anything about sex?” Liam looks both impressed by Zayn’s gentlemanly nature, and embarrassed that he had misinterpreted what was initially asked of him. “I find you attractive, but I need to focus on why I’m here rather than put another notch in my bedpost.” 

Licking his lips swiftly, Zayn cocks his head towards the dance floor. “So do you want to dance?” 

Liam continues to appear skeptical at Zayn’s intentions, even though the skater’s made them overtly clear. He drinks the last of what’s in his glass before motioning for Zayn to go first. “Lead the way.” 

Copying the male’s actions, Zayn tips back his glass and drinks the remaining contents prior to joining the bodies that were pressed up against each other like their lives depended on it. 

It’s not the same approach that Zayn takes right off the bat, instead allowing the other male to be the one to set the space between them, which ends up being to Zayn’s liking - only half an arms length. He wasn’t the best of dancers, and he thinks Liam gets that by the way he takes control and pulls Zayn close three songs in. To an outsider looking in, they probably come across as indifferentiable from the others around them, minus the over inebriation and raunchy grinding. Still, with their close proximity, and Zayn choosing to push his luck by letting the side of his head press up against Liam’s, the athlete thinks that the feel of the physio’s body pushed up against his feels just as good as what the other party goers are experiencing. 

Somewhere in between a Top 40 hit and an electronic anthem, Liam goes to get them another drink. Zayn’s happy their pacing’s the same: patient and steady, not like Niall who gets drunk within the first hour of arriving or Louis who drowns himself in tequila right before they leave so that it can hit by the time they get to the next place. 

They chose to people watch from against a wall when Liam comes back, making fake bets on who would stumble to who’s room, and laughing about nonsensical things like how Zayn really wishes he could skate with Velcro shoes like he did as a kid. 

When he steps foot into his room after the two say goodnight in front of their respective doors, Zayn realizes that he hasn’t felt a lick of anxiety since he got to the party. 

Maybe he’s found the ticket to eliminating his anxiety while in Tokyo. It’s got an affinity for whiskey and a contagious smile that warrants two crinkled up eyes. 

**Competition Day: +12**

Glancing around the cafeteria, Zayn can easily pick out who went way too hard the night before. It’s not difficult to guess based on the dark circles and washed out skin that some had from not getting adequate enough sleep, yet still needing to be up this early to train. The ones who _weren’t_ present however, were probably of the worst. Niall’s absence around the table makes Zayn think that the male’s spearheading that group. 

“You look pretty refreshed.” Zayn takes a quick bite of his oatmeal, seeing Louis do the same across from him. “Early night after all?” 

“Ummm,” Louis squints his eyes in thought at just how he wants to phrase what Zayn’s already making his own assumptions about. “Harry makes this green juice that’s good for the skin apparently.” 

Zayn nods in understanding, keeping his thoughts to himself, just like he had when Louis got to their room that morning right as he was just waking up. 

“Do you know what he puts in it?” Liam asks from Zayn’s right, nursing his own kale something or other, power drink. 

“Why don’t you ask him yourself,” Louis offers before taking a drink of his coffee. “He’s meeting us in Shinjuku after we eat and Niall resurrects from the grave. You should come.” 

Liam glances at Zayn as if he’s looking for some sort of permission, though the skater’s not sure why. It’s not like he was in charge of Liam like Camden was. “You guys are just gonna hang about?” Liam asks unsure. 

“We don’t ‘hang about’ Liam.” Louis takes another long swig from his mug, “we skate.” 

The physio still seems hesitant at the idea, “Harry included?” 

“With those baby deer legs and Saint Laurent boots?” Louis says with a raised eyebrow, Zayn snickering at the comparison. “No, he rents a bike to keep up.” 

The answer seems to put Liam at ease, knowing that he won’t be expected to grab a board and no doubt make a fool of himself next to worldstar athletes. “As long as I can be back by my afternoon shift,” he lets them know. “I’ve gotta check the facilities and be on hand.” 

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Louis waves off with his spoon. “I want to be back after lunch to practice for a few hours at the park.” 

Again, Liam looks to Zayn for some sort of validation. “You too?” 

“No.” Zayn pushes his finished bowl away, moving on to popping a few berries into his mouth. “I’m gonna consider the ‘hang about’ as my practice.” 

“Zayn’s a prodigy, he doesn’t need to practice.” 

Stopping mid fruit reach, Zayn turns to look at Louis with a glare. He’s completely left out the part where Zayn doesn’t need a bowl or pool to practice like _he_ does. That, and the fact that he’s most definitely _not_ a prodigy. 

“No, really,” Louis goes on. “He just avoids anything that gets him inside his own head.” It’s brave of Louis to talk about Zayn’s inner struggles like that to Liam, but it’s not terribly detailed, so Zayn just nods his head to the side in agreement. “Still think he’s a prodigy though,” Louis adds quickly. 

Instead of groaning, Zayn just shoves another handful of blueberries into his mouth. 

“Alright, sounds fun,” Liam acquiesces, smile on his face at being included in something non-work related. 

— 

Japan’s humidity wasn’t letting up, early morning or not. Now was one of those times where Zayn would consider going along with one of Louis’ crazy plans like sneaking into the Olympic Aquatic Center for a dip. He hated swimming with a passion, but a quick jump in and jump out was all that he’d need for some relief. Wearing distressed jeans didn’t help matters, but Zayn _hated_ practicing seriously in shorts. The harder the training, the rougher the falls, and he’d much rather have material be what rips, not his skin. 

Two cold drinks in hand, Zayn glances over at Liam and admires the man’s palm size, which makes it so that he can hold _three_ plastic cups with unbelievable ease. 

“I don’t know how you do it in this humidity,” Liam says as they walk over to a shady bench after handing the other boy’s their various iced teas and Aloe Vera waters. “I’m sweating me peanuts off.” 

Zayn chuckles as he takes his seat, “It’s my job.” 

Liam joins him, draping his arm around the back of the bench casually. “It’s hard to see it that way when I just watched you grind tables and sidewalk curbs for two hours.” 

“I skate street,” Zayn reminds the male. “Everyday things like those _are_ my office.” 

“Yeah, well it almost became _mine_ when you practically fell into oncoming traffic,” Liam argues, bringing a cup of mango juice up to his lips. 

“You’re being dramatic.” At the mention of his skating, Zayn reaches down into his backpack and pulls out the bottle of Pocari Sweat that he got from a vending machine earlier. “Would you rather I _not_ have tucked and rolled, and dislocated my shoulder by having _it_ break the fall instead?” Unscrewing the cap, Zayn takes a healthy drink of the Japanese Gatorade. 

“I’d rather neither,” Liam says in an earnest tone. 

Swallowing, Zayn shakes his head. “That’s not practical and you know it.” 

The skater had to admit that Liam was handling having to watch him fall a lot better than how he thinks the typical physiotherapist would. His parents had certainly witnessed the worst of the beatings, having to live with him when he was still figuring out the sport and perfecting the tricks that he could now do in his sleep, but that didn’t mean that Zayn was immune to a few brutal wipeouts every now and then. From the ones so far today, Liam hardly flinched. And while that was a good thing in Zayn’s eyes, he also thought it ironic that the physio would rather he _not_ get hurt, seeing as though if that was always the case, the man’s professional industry would crumble. 

“What Louis said earlier,” Liam speaks up gingerly. “About the getting in your head stuff…” 

When Zayn trades examining the suburban blacktop for Liam’s profile, he can tell that the other’s trying to come up with a non-intrusive way to satisfy his curiosity and get further explanation. 

“I have performance anxiety,” Zayn declares, eyeing the man’s expression to see how he takes the blunt confession. 

“Officially?” The question comes in an objective tone. 

Zayn doesn’t remove his critical stare. “Yeah.” 

He waits for the onslaught of questions or affirmations that he’s amazing, there’s no reason he should feel that way about himself. Or the points of advice. Those always got under Zayn’s skin the most since he thought he did a pretty good job making it clear to people that he handled his own, a lone wolf of sorts when it came to what he thought was best for himself. 

But none of that came. 

Liam’s chocolate brown eyes look between Zayn’s hazel ones inquisitively before he nods patiently and goes back to observing the other three boy’s chatting amongst themselves. “I hope I’m getting good enough shots for Niall.” 

They’re sat close enough that Zayn knows Liam can probably tell when his eyebrows raise at the topic being dropped so easily. Surely Liam has more questions than just whether or not the athlete had gotten a professional opinion; Zayn knows _he_ would. Maybe working in the medical field made the man sensitive towards a confession like that, but regardless, Zayn was blown away. 

“Are you kidding?” He says, looking over at where Liam’s bike is parked with one GoPro strapped to the back rim and another on the front handle bars. “He can never get enough angles or have enough hands. You’re Christmas in July.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Liam replies bemusedly. “But considering how he looked when he met us at the metro this morning, I’m glad I could help make his day even marginally better.” 

Thinking back to after breakfast when Niall met them at the nearest station as they waited for Harry, Zayn agrees. The male looked rough, perfectly styled outfit of blue shorts rolled up at the ends and wrinkle free grey tee not doing much to deter attention away from the exhaustion in his eyes. 

“He’s not a bad skater himself,” Liam opines. 

“Sort of has to be when he needs to operate a camera while keeping up with me.” Zayn switches back to his newly bought Aloe Vera drink. “Broke more than I could count when we were just starting out.” 

“How old were you when you met?” 

Shaking his cup to get the ice to melt faster, Zayn recalls the memory. “He moved to town when we were seven.” He fishes out a cube with his finger to chew on. “Saw me skating around the parking lot while my sister was getting her hair cut and introduced himself when I caught him staring. I thought his accent was cool and we just sorta chilled for the rest of the summer. It was lucky we ended up going to the same school the next year. 

“He was always wantin’ to stand on the other side of the tape instead of sitting with the audience when I went to competitions, and the only way he could do that was if he was a part of my team.” Zayn breaks down the ice further with his back teeth. “I was eight, I didn’t know what a team was. So he convinced his Dad to buy him a camera and we told the registration desk he was my photographer. The rest is history.” 

Liam grins at how two kids managed to outsmart the system, “I’ll have to remember that one.” Using his cup, Liam points to the small group that’s accumulated around their three friends, though primarily Louis. “Shouldn’t they ask for pictures instead?” He asks confused. “Won’t the sharpie scrape off when they ride?” 

Following where Liam’s pointed, Zayn can see the local skaters ask for Louis’ autograph on the underside of their boards. “Would you kick a goal with a signed Messi ball?” He counters, taking a drink from his cup now that the ice in his mouth has melted. 

Liam looks back at Zayn in horror, “Never.” 

The man shrugs as if to say ‘there you go’. 

“Are you calling yourself as legendary as Messi?” Liam quips with a smirk on his lips at Zayn’s name drop. 

“I needed someone you’d recognize,” Zayn insists, eyes narrowing ever so slightly at Liam trying to catch him in some sort of egotistical admittance. 

“Uh huh,” the other agrees, though Zayn can tell he’s itching to continue poking fun at the comparison. 

A nearby bin catches his eye, but Zayn thinks it’s too far for him to make if he threw his empty cup. “Half the time when I’m in another country, the people just see Niall and ask for a picture because they assume I’m famous from all his fancy equipment.” 

“Can you imagine what it’s like to be international actor level famous?” Liam wonders, holding out a hand to take Zayn’s empty cup. 

“I wouldn’t last a day,” Zayn says while handing over the plastic, watching the man toss it, as well as his own drink, into the bin. When Liam sits back down he thanks him before going back to the conversation. “Six months of competition season and one or two modeling gigs a year are more than enough for me.” 

Liam’s smirk reappears at the modeling reference. “I enjoyed that part of the homework.” 

The first thing that comes to Zayn’s mind is wanting to tell him that it’s only fair that he at least share whatever sort of comparable quality pictures of himself he has, since Zayn wasn’t given a leg up on internet snooping like Liam was, but the athlete holds his tongue. The real life version couldn’t do a picture justice anyway. 

“Did you want an autograph too?” Zayn mocks, twisting his shoulders so that he was facing Liam properly. 

“I don’t have a board to frame, but…” he trails off, hand digging into one of his front trouser pockets. “I do have a camera.” 

_This guy’s a dork_ is all Zayn can think as he watches Liam wave the phone in front of him, facial features animated to try and get the skater to agree to his request. 

Scooting over, Zayn presses their shoulders up against each other so that they both fit in the frame. “You only get one. I’m a very busy guy.” 

Instead of rolling his eyes like Zayn thought he might have, Liam ignores the comment and takes the picture. Zayn’s got his lips pursed into an ‘o’ shape, tuft of black hair sticking through the hole of his backwards snapback, while Liam gave a more serious face with a quirked up eyebrow. 

“Do you have a Tokyo folder yet?” Zayn asks as he watches Liam flick through is photo folders. 

“I do,” the male replies with a determined look. “But it’s going in the friends folder instead.” 

Zayn’s got his mouth open to respond, say something cheeky about how he’s made it to that status with Liam, but before he gets the chance, Harry’s standing in front of them with a kid by his side. 

“Hey,” Harry smiles. “Would you mind signing Yuki’s deck? He says he’s a big fan.” 

The young boy stays quiet, just staring at the star with hopeful eyes. “Of course,” Zayn replies, sending a smile of his own to the kid before motioning for him to hand over his board and the sharpie that Niall always keeps in his equipment bag for moments like this. They’d had one too many instances that left Zayn feeling guilty when a fan came up without any sort of pen, so he bought a few and stored them with Niall’s cameras to make sure it didn’t happen again. 

“Hasn’t gotten Louis yet?” Zayn asks when he’s uncapping the pen and seeing that there wasn’t any other signature on the underside of the board, even though they’d just walked over from where his mate was. 

Harry shakes his head, running his hands through his curly hair. “He didn’t want him, only you.” 

There’s no stopping Zayn’s smile when he hears the reasoning, looking up and past the boy to where Louis was, as if he would be able to see the man’s silent anger from where he was sitting. “Tell him thanks for the support and ask if he’s coming to the event,” Zayn directs towards Harry, looking back down at the wood and picking a spot to sign his name. 

He can feel Liam watch as he scribbles the letters and a short ‘keep skating bro’ while Harry translates his request. 

“He says it was impossible to get tickets,” the volunteer relays. “But that you’re his favourite rider.” 

Zayn laughs lightly as he puts the lid back on the pen. “Even more than Kaito?” 

Thanks to the shifting sun, Zayn’s got to squint at the two in front of him as he waits for Harry to deliver his message about the famed Japenese contestant in his category. 

Instead of speaking, Yuki nods with a shy smile. 

For his home to be the host country, the boy’s pretty brave for admitting that he was rooting against his representative. “I won’t tell,” Zayn promises with a sly smile as he hands back the board. 

After a short exchange, Harry looks back at Zayn. “He says his favourite trick is the [backside 360 kickflip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UNWMr5nwYM&list=PLUI5xN1_-KQyjaPfLS_XNyLUXa3pdbQJl&index=4&t=0s).” 

_Yeah no kidding_ , the Olympian thinks. It’s not easy in the slightest, but inspecting their surroundings and what he’s got to work with, Zayn thinks he might be able to make it work. “Let’s see what we can do,” he announces following a deep breath. 

Standing up, he can tell the kid’s aching for Harry to translate what’s going on. “Liam brought his first aid kit if things go wrong,” Zayn casually mentions as he grabs his bag and abandoned sports drink, skateboard already over with the others’. 

“Zayn…” Liam growls in annoyance at his worrisome nature being mocked. 

“Leeyum,” Zayn drawls out fondly in his thick accent. Looking over his shoulder, he sends the man a wink to assure him that he won’t hurt himself. He knows his limits, remember? 

“Send me the pic, yeah?” He adds as Harry finally translates that Zayn’s going to attempt the trick, the younger boy smiling wildly up at his hero. 

The skater spends the next thirty minutes trying to land the trick, but as soon as he does, he instantly feels a sense of accomplishment flood his emotions, the crowd of onlookers going crazy with Yuki the happiest of them all. 

**Competition Day: +11**

Why the Olympic committee separated the park and street contests a full _eleven_ days apart, Zayn had no idea. It seemed like practically every other sport competed one event after another, but apparently the skateboarding organizers didn’t get the memo. When he found out that Louis was going to compete first so far in advance of Zayn, he had mixed feelings. 

On the one hand, he was overjoyed that he could have more time to perfect the tricks he was planning on performing, but on the other, he wished he could just get it over with and not have another week and a half for his nerves to compound on top of themselves. 

Whichever way he wanted to look at it, it didn’t matter. He was stood in the coaches area with the whole seven person GB team, like it or not. They’d all been at the arena since seven, making sure Louis had everything he needed and adequate enough time to warm up for the 9AM heats, but just being this close to the course, even though it was the park section, had Zayn feeling nervous. Unlike his street counterpart, Louis fed off the fear of losing. What Zayn would give for such superpower. 

Four hours later, and Zayn’s got his arms crossed in anticipation, watching with bated breath as his friend lets his weight pull him down into the bowl for the last time since making it to the top eight. The boy’s in fifth place, leaving everyone to know that he’s got to pull something out of the bag if he stands any chance of making it to the podium. So when he lands a massive 540, Zayn erupts in cheers, shaking Niall’s shoulders in excitement at what Louis’ just managed to do. They continue to hoot and holler for the remainder of the forty [five second run](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xZnL4MY1244&list=PLUI5xN1_-KQyjaPfLS_XNyLUXa3pdbQJl&index=5&t=0s), Camden the only one out of the remaining three to understand the enormity of what the skater’s just pulled off. 

As Louis finishes, a few other competing skaters take their boards and walk up to the edge of the bowl, slapping them against the rim in respect at how insane the performance turned out. By the time Louis makes it out and over to where the group was, the 95.53 score is illuminated on the screens plastered everywhere in the venue. 

Louis barely has time to process anything before Niall and Zayn are screaming and jostling him like mad at the score that’s now put him in second place. There are still three people after him, but they can’t compare, and it’s all blurry eyes and excited chanting once Louis takes his spot on the podium’s second step, bowing his head for the silver medal to be placed around his neck. 

For the rest of the afternoon, Louis’ pulled into a million different directions by fans, interviewers, fellow skaters, the lot. And Zayn’s genuinely, truly happy for his friend. Not only does he deserve it, but outrightly _earned_ it, and nothing could be more gratifying to witness. 

They all head to the Coca Cola after party in Shibuya after an extremely emotional dinner with Louis’ sisters who flew over to watch him, but history repeats itself as Zayn finds himself alone with Liam after losing Niall in the crowd (Zayn’s convinced it’s not on accident) and being ditched by the newlywed couple. 

He’s not complaining though. The two had another night of tipsy dancing to themselves, and walking the streets of Tokyo at 2AM had a romantic vibe to it that’s growing on Zayn at a rapid speed. 

“So do you like Tokyo so far?” He finds himself asking, body temperature only slightly elevated from the alcohol coursing through him, since the humidity went away with the sun. 

“Like would be an understatement,” Liam answers without hesitation, hands in his light wash jeans, the material clinging to his legs in a way that accentuated the definition that came from being a runner. The fit definitely didn’t go unnoticed by Zayn, and he made sure to let his eyes linger selfishly any time the other went to get them drinks during the night because of it. 

A group of girls were coming straight for the two, clinging to each other for stability from either their high heels or from just coming out of a club where they seemed to have had a _very_ good time, Zayn couldn’t tell. To avoid forcing them to break their hold, he veers away from Liam until they pass in between the path made. 

“I remember the first time I came, I never wanted to leave,” he confesses openly, making his way back to Liam’s side. 

The male stares at all the passing windows and neon lights that are shining from nearly every crevice of the street. Even though it’s the middle of the night, the signs make it seem like it’s 2PM, not 2AM. 

Liam’s distracted by the uniqueness of it all, but still manages to reply. “I’ve got a list of things I want to do before I go home.” 

Zayn smiles to himself while trying to understand how a few straight lines that looked like boxes could be a coherent language. “Thought you were going to bring up your bucket list there for a second.” 

“No, that’s a whole separate one,” Liam responds, coming to an abrupt stop when Zayn puts a hand on his chest to stop him from going against the crosswalk sign that signaled for them to wait. 

“It’s a cultural thing,” Zayn clues him in on when Liam looks at him confused on why they can’t just cross when there’s no cars in sight, it’s what they would do in England without a second thought. 

Nodding, Liam stays put and goes back to their conversation once Zayn drops his hand. “I made this after I got a travel guide on the city and realized how much there was to see.” 

“You got a travel guide?” The skater questions in amusement, turning his head to look at Liam while they waited. 

“Yeah,” the man replies with a hint of defensiveness. “So?” 

One side of Zayn’s mouth twists up, “Like a physical one?” 

“Yeah, it’s in my room.” When Zayn shakes his head fondly, Liam stares at him more intently, lips wanting to turn into a smile as well from being teased, but staying flat to match the serious gaze. “What’s wrong with that?” 

“Nothing babe,” Zayn says in an enamored tone, stepping into the street first once the signal turns. “What’s on this list of yours?” 

There’s a small hop to his step when Liam catches up with Zayn. “A few museums, because you can’t avoid those as a first time tourist.” His expression changes when he catches hold of another thought that’s come to his mind. “You know, I didn’t know all that much about Japan growing up besides the occasional anime picture and Pokemon. Oh and Power Rangers, but I didn’t even know they were Japanese until recently, so I guess that doesn’t count.” 

After learning that the two of them came from similar backgrounds, Zayn doesn’t think he needs to agree with Liam that he too was oblivious to a lot of what the world offered outside of Northern England. He likes to think that with having such a flexible career, he’s managed to broaden his horizons ten fold. 

“No Godzilla?” Zayn throws out, unintentionally bumping into Liam’s arm due to their close proximity and being reminded of how hard the man’s build was. 

“Didn’t even think about that,” Liam mumbles, more to himself than to the boy next to him. “Guess I knew four things.” 

“Sushi?” Zayn tries, digging into his pockets for a packet of gum after Liam elbows him in ardent irritation. 

“Let me finish my list before you embarrass me further,” he reprimands, pulling out his phone at the same time. “I’ve had sushi before, but I’ve never been to one of those conveyor belt places where they go around in a circle,” he makes a circular motion with his free hand to mimic the restaurant style. “So I want to go to one of those.” 

“That’s easy enough,” Zayn says as he pops a piece of gum into his mouth, offering the package to Liam and taking out a stick to hand over when he sees the boy nod. 

“A traditional ramen,” Liam reads off the organized list on his phone before unwrapping the gum and shoving the leftover paper into his pocket. “One of those fish shaped desserts that are filled with bean paste. I wrote down the name, but I can’t pronounce it.” 

Zayn looks over at him when he pauses, realizing that it’s because Liam’s trying to sound out the word to himself before saying it aloud. 

“Thai-yaki?” 

From the description Zayn knows what he’s talking about, but he’s got no idea if the pronunciation's right. Nonetheless, the way Liam’s accent sounds around the word makes him grin. 

“Those fluffy pancakes that you see on Instagram!” The physio blurts out excitedly. “I favourited a place that came up on my feed.” 

“Came up or you searched?” Zayn continues to tease, eyes flicking over to where he sees a clothing store that seems up his alley, but not stopping since the inside’s dark - a stark difference to the street it’s situated on. 

Turning back to Liam, he sees the man give him what Zayn thinks is _supposed_ to be an offensive glare, but really comes off as more of a ticked off golden retriever pout. 

The puppy goes on to list more foods, points of interest, and various shrines that he wants to visit once he thinks Zayn’s gotten the gist of his annoyance. 

“Oh, and I want to go to a karaoke bar,” he adds at the end. “Would you go with me?” 

“No, not happening.” His firm tone makes it clear that Zayn’s not remotely interested. “You should consider yourself lucky that I’ve been in the mood to dance as much as I have.” His willingness might have been courtesy of a little liquid courage, but it also had to partially do with who he was pressed up against during the majority of it. 

“They serve alcohol at those places according to the travel guide,” Liam mentions, optimistic that the information might sway Zayn some. 

“The travel guide can kiss my ass,” the older male objects sarcastically. “I’m not singin’.” 

Liam exhales loudly, “Fine.” Pocketing his phone, he moves on to a different subject. “So where else have you been that stands out?” 

“Like, for skateboarding or in general?” Zayn checks, because he doubts one place could answer both. 

“Either,” Liam shrugs, stopping to stare at a busy advertisement that’s illustrating a music store below ground. The English portion at the bottom of the sign shows that it doesn’t reopen until 10AM. 

“Well if we’re talking riding, then Brazil, hands down.” Falling into step with Liam once he’s done examining the sign, Zayn considers the rest of his answer. “As you saw today, they know how to skate, and it’s not just a few of them either.” He thinks how the first and third place winners of the day were from the South American country and how the results will probably look the same during his event. “If it weren’t for country regulations, 70% of the competitors would be from Brazil, I’m telling you. Americans and Brazilians man, sick.” 

Throughout his time skating, Zayn couldn’t believe how a single country could produce such highly skilled competitions in such a niche area. Usually an individual sport that requires so little money and equipment made for a relatively even distribution of talent around the world, so it was a surprise to see the domination of only two or three countries. 

“I’d love to go to Brazil,” Liam says in a dreamy tone. “See the beaches and rainforest.” 

“I’ll take you one day.” 

It’s not even something that Zayn thinks twice about, the vow just falls from his lips with ease. Maybe the still-there lightheadedness from the night’s Jameson was to blame, but Zayn doesn’t take it back. His subconscious let it happen, and that should speak for his sincerity more than what fully sober Zayn might’ve said instead. 

Liam marvels at Zayn as they continue to stroll down the sidewalk, but he doesn’t comment on the promise. “What about in general?” 

To prevent rushing into another response, Zayn takes his time to think about what places he’s favoured during the years. “Dubai lives up to the hype, believe it or not.” He decides not to disclose how much of that might have been due to being an eighteen year old with more money than he knew what to do with. “Mumbai was sick too. Or Sydney actually,” he reconsiders. “But that might just be because I had a wicked few runs and won gold at the X Games when we were there.” 

“You’ve been to a lot of places then, huh?” 

Turning his head to the right, Zayn suddenly feels himself sober up at how conceited he might have been coming across. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

“No, it’s ok. I don’t mind.” Liam shakes his head, making eye contact with the other for a second to show that he genuinely wasn’t bothered by it. “I think it’s really impressive how you’ve managed to make all that happen for yourself. You didn’t take any handouts, it was all raw talent.” He pauses for a moment before adding a final thought. “I admire that.” 

There’s no mistaking Liam’s candor for anything other than what it is, it’s clear by the way he takes his time with his words. He really means what he says, no influence from any lingering alcohol. 

“Thanks,” Zayn replies simply. 

“You should be proud of yourself for it.” 

The man’s kindness has Zayn taking a deep breath in contentment. From the words, and from the peaceful setting in which they’re said. “I am.” He’s quick to make sure that he’s not the only one receiving recognition. “You too though. After seeing the other teams today, you’ve got to be one of the youngest physios here.” 

Liam barely seems affected by the compliment, “Yeah, I guess.” 

“What do you mean you guess?” Zayn’s thrown off by the lack of enthusiasm that the male usually has. “We’re at the Olympics, don’t sell yourself short.” 

A bicyclist wizzes by them, but Liam hardly flinches. “I originally applied to be a medical volunteer, but I got rejected.” 

Zayn’s forehead crinkles in confusion, “So then how’d you wind up here?” 

Still avoiding eye contact, Liam turns them down another random street. “I knew some people when I was younger that worked with Olympic athletes, so I reached out when I didn’t get accepted and they called a few people. Got me this.” 

Zayn watches as Liam tries to distract himself by walking alongside the edge of the sidewalk curb, arms out to balance himself. “Well that means something,” Zayn reasons. “That you were qualified enough to trust with the job. _And_ you’re getting paid.” He almost reaches out to grab Liam’s outstretched hand when the other nearly tips into the empty street, but the male catches himself before that happens. “Not that Harry needs the money, but I don’t see him getting a paycheck. 

“You’re just as talented as I am,” Zayn asserts in a gentle voice. 

Liam steps back onto the sidewalk, humoured smile on his lips. “Now you’re letting the alcohol get to you.” 

The rose colour tint that he feels in his cheeks tells Zayn that there’s no use in lying. “Maybe a little, but people deemed you worthy enough to be here.” Licking his lips, he sees a trash bin approaching and spits the gum inside, not needing it to busy his senses anymore. His underlying nerves were gone for the night. “They could’ve written you off for being twenty six and not able to hold chopsticks even if your life depended on it.” 

Finally Liam snaps out of his haze, a charged energy radiating off him once more. “Hey!” 

“But they didn’t,” Zayn points out, extremely grateful to see the other ease up. “You’re more than just a referral.” 

Liam holds back from sinking into himself once more, instead, acknowledging Zayn with a meaningful, “thanks.” 

The skater sways his body into Liam’s lazily. “And I promised I’d make you a pro with chopsticks before we leave, didn’t I?” 

“You did,” Liam confirms, thin smile directed down at his shoes. 

“I don’t break promises.” With the man relaxing again, Zayn leisurely leans into him for a second time. “We’ll get on it first thing tomorrow.” 

“I’ve got the women’s park in the morning,” Liam reminds him, accepting the body weight against his own. 

At the mention of the event, Zayn pushes him harder than the previous waves when he realizes how late it is to be out with such responsibility so soon. “Why didn’t you say something? It’s like 2AM, you’ll only get like four hours of sleep.” 

Liam’s body hardly budges any more with the extra momentum. “More like five. We don’t have anyone competing, so I just have to be there in time for the heats in case some team needs an extra hand.” He ventures more towards the center of the sidewalk in case Zayn decides to really throw his weight into it. “I’ll survive.” 

“Are you sure?” Not waiting for an answer, Zayn pulls out his phone so they can call a car. “We should head back.” He punches in the Village address, coming to a halt so he can type easier. “Can’t believe you let me keep you out this late.” 

As he navigates the app, Zayn starts to hope that tonight wouldn’t be the night that Camden decides to go looking for the physio for whatever reason. He knows the coach had said there weren’t curfews to abide by, but Zayn can’t help but feel slightly guilty at running the risk of Liam getting into any sort of trouble. 

“I’d pick nights with you over sleep any day.” 

Zayn stops what he’s doing and glances up as soon as he hears the words. Liam’s back to balancing himself on the sidewalk curb, oblivious to being watched. Or maybe not, Zayn thinks. Maybe he’s well aware his childish behaviour’s endearing and makes Zayn want to pull him back onto the sidewalk, kiss him quiet and tell him to be more careful. As if it’s not Liam’s job to make sure _Zayn’s_ the one who doesn’t get hurt. 

Instead, he looks back down at his phone. “Car’ll be here in six minutes.” And until it gets there, Zayn keeps his eyes peeled to make sure no _thing_ and no _one_ , disturbs Liam’s fun. 

**Competition Day: +10**

“Like this?” 

“No, hold it higher. Your fingers are too close to the middle.” 

“I just had them higher and you said it was _too_ high.” 

“Well yeah, you can’t put them on the ends. You’d be better off stabbing the roll, which is what got us here in the first place.” 

Now that Zayn was familiar with Liam’s Tokyo bucket list, he decides not to waste any time in helping him start to check off items, starting with conveyor belt sushi. 

He knows that he wasn’t required to, but Zayn got up early that morning to head over to the venue and watch the women’s park competition. Like the men’s, he knows a lot of the competitors from hanging around Louis, since it’s rare that park and street skaters are in the same contest space at the same time. The silver medalist met him for the Finals after having done several interviews for various outlets early in the morning, with Harry at his side. 

Zayn wanted to make some sarcastic comment on how they’re practically conjoined at the hip at that point, but he kept the thought to himself until he and Louis were alone. 

He got quite a lot of romantic attention being surrounded by so many women involved in the same sport, many he’s eyed himself over the years, but Zayn only flirted generously with whoever sauntered up to him. In the back of his mind he knew he was allowed to do whatever he wanted, but there was something that nagged at him when he saw Liam in the corner of his eye as a particularly fit Brazilian offered for Zayn to join her for lunch. He didn’t owe Liam anything, the man said it himself that as long as they were working together, nothing could go on between the two of them, but Zayn still declined the offer, telling the girl that he was going to take the afternoon to practice on the street side of the venue. 

It wasn’t a complete lie, he did need to train, but they both knew he could have spared an hour or two to eat and then some. She slipped him her number for another day, and as she walked away, Zayn stared after her thinking that it couldn’t hurt to store the number just in case. 

“Let me watch you one more time,” Liam pleads, eyes zoned in on the black sticks that are laying in Zayn’s right palm. 

Niall had picked up Zayn’s refusals for the afternoon, and apparently into the evening, so it was just the four of them for dinner - Liam to Zayn’s left, Louis to his right, and Harry to the right of him. Louis had aptly called the night a double date while they were getting ready, but Zayn was quick to deny the label, not knowing what Liam would think if he had heard it himself. 

“Fingers at the top so you have more control,” Zayn instructs, holding out his hand for Liam to take note of. “Use your middle finger to push it back and forth like a claw.” 

“Like a crab claw,” Liam nods once, mirroring the movements with thin air. “Alright.” 

It’s hard for Zayn _not_ to be charmed by the twenty six year old’s mechanics comparison, but whatever it takes for him to memorize the movements. 

He watches as Liam tries to pick up the tuna roll on the small plate in front of him, full of focus. “Not too tight,” Zayn cautions, laughing straight after when Liam panics and rushes to shove the roll into his mouth before it falls. “You’re getting there.” 

“So Zayn…” 

The boy turns his head to look away from where Liam’s ridding himself of any disappointment to focus on the taste of the food, and towards where Harry’s sitting. 

“Louis says you’ve known him since you were eight and he was nine,” the boy says, leaning forward so he can look at Zayn clearly. 

Staring at Louis for a split second, Zayn tries to figure out where this was going. “Uh huh…” 

“What’s _your_ version of how you met?” 

Right as Zayn smirks at what’s being asked of him, Louis’ scowling. “Aw, what you askin’ him for?” Louis complains, reaching for his beer bottle. “I told you the whole story last night.” 

“And like _I_ told you last night,” Harry pulls down a sashimi plate from the belt before it passes them by, “I think you tend to bend the truth in your favour when it’s needed.” 

“I like this one,” Zayn declares, which earns him a silent middle finger from his friend. Before he takes a bite of the salmon he’s balanced with his chopsticks, he speaks, “So do you want the short or long version.” 

“Long,” Harry and Liam answer at the same time. 

Along with the freshness of the fish, Zayn also smiles from the group’s enthusiasm, save Louis, who’s looking to drown himself in his beer. “There weren’t that many skateparks up North when we were younger,” he starts once he’s finished swallowing. “There’s still not many now actually. Leeds had one indoors though - massive. On the weekends Niall and I used to get his Dad to drive us over.” Sitting back in his seat, Zayn crosses his ankles. “Don’t want to know how Louis convinced his parents to let him ride the train up by himself from Doncaster.” 

“They may not have found out until I was a few years older,” the boy confesses unashamedly. 

“What?” Wide eyed, Zayn looks to where his friend was pushing the button for a waiter to come over and get him more beer. “Where’d they think you went?” 

“Anywhere that wasn’t home. As long as I didn’t have to watch my sisters and was back by tea, they didn’t really care,” Louis shrugs, as if traveling alone out of your city under the age of ten was a normal thing to do. 

“My parents would’ve killed me,” Liam chimes in, causing Zayn to peek over at his plate to see that he’s given up on eating for the time being. 

“Yeah mine too,” Zayn agrees, wondering if Liam was just as responsible as a child as he was these days, but letting the thought go. “Anyway,” he faces forward so all three can hear him. “One Saturday we were at the park and Niall was rewatching footage on his camcorder and pointed out this kid who was in like, all of the shots. Wearing red nonetheless.” 

“What?” Louis says in defense when he sees how Zayn’s giving him a pointed glare. “Gotta support the Rovers.” 

In retrospect, if it weren’t for Louis’ hometown football team having such a bright colour scheme, maybe Niall wouldn’t have ever noticed the boy. 

“Yeah well, Niall’s having a proper strop because I did this kickflip and all you could pay attention to was the kid in the background wearing red.” Louis grins proudly before lifting his beer bottle for the waiter to know what he needed. “It’s cool though, I tell him we can do it again, just record over it so he doesn’t waste the tape, you know? So we do, except all you can ever see is the same red jersey.” 

“So you’re a stalker,” Liam butts in, using his fingers to pick up the last roll on his plate as he waits for Louis to comment on his observation. 

Laughter fills the air as Zayn tilts his head back slightly, gaining his composure when Louis slaps his arm. “See that was the short version,” he says in relation to Liam’s stalker conclusion. 

“Keep going then,” Harry urges, disgruntled facial expressions telling Zayn that this wasn’t at all how Louis retold the story. 

“We left not too long after, but Niall was still pissed about it.” 

Zayn remembers being surprised about how upset the Irish boy was at his work being for nothing. He recalls telling him that it was good practice for both of them, Zayn on being consistent with his tricks and Niall on his newfound cinematography skills, but the latter was always the more temperamental of the two. 

“Went back the next Saturday and the same thing happened, except this time it wasn’t so much the footage, but more that Louis was following us around. And like, for an indoor park, it was pretty huge, so we kinda knew that it was on purpose.” Zayn pauses as he reaches for another plate scrolling by. “Niall almost had a go at him when Louis skated too close in the opposite direction as we were filming another trick. I don’t remember what it was.” 

“You were trying to [hardflip over a stairset](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTG9OX5WR8w&list=PLUI5xN1_-KQyjaPfLS_XNyLUXa3pdbQJl&index=6&t=0s).” 

Zayn’s at a loss for words when he first hears Louis’ recollection. “How do you remember that?” 

“Because you were eight,” Louis says in a deadpanned tone. “And no eight year old should be able to land something like that.” 

The statement goes along with Louis’ rhetoric that Zayn’s been a prodigy since birth, but Zayn was more surprised by how much of an impression he must’ve made on the younger version of the man on his right for him to have been able to remember the trick nearly twenty years later. 

“Right, well, I had to hold Niall back from kicking your ass.” Still listening, Liam peeks over at what Zayn had pulled down for himself, the skater nudging him with his foot to let him know that it was ok for him to try some. “If you would have cost him that video camera he would’ve had you screaming bloody murder.” 

Rolling his eyes, Louis nods in thanks at the beer that was being brought back to him. “I would’ve liked to have seen him try. Between the two of you, you couldn’t have weighed more than ten stone soaking wet.” 

He’s not wrong, but Zayn chooses to ignore him, as per usual. “Did give you a few choice words though.” 

As a kid, Niall had a much healthier vocabulary of swear words and insults than most. So much so, that more times than not Zayn ruined their impact by having to ask what his friend meant any time he used them. 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Louis dismisses pompously. 

Zayn raises his eyebrows, “You begged him not to report you for disruptive behaviour to others.” 

“And _that’s_ the rendition I wanted.” 

Leaning back in his seat some, Zayn grins at Harry’s confirmation. “What’d he tell you?” He asks curiously. 

The man puts a hand on Louis’ thigh to show that he’s not as peeved as he might sound. “That you two invited him to be a part of your group since he was near your age and the three of you were already always around each other.” 

Liam snorts, “left out a few things Tommo.” 

Even though the physio used his nickname, Louis still narrows his eyes in contempt at Liam. “He did save himself though,” Zayn continues before Louis has the chance to berate Liam like Zayn can tell he wants to. “Told Niall his camera was wicked and if he could show him how it worked. Won him over and into the two man crew.” 

“Rule number one to getting what you want.” Pointer finger in everyone’s face, Louis goes on, “Make the other person feel like they’re more important.” 

Zayn always did think that Louis would make a fantastic salesmen. 

“Was that your strategy when you told me I was a prodigy for the first time as I held Niall back by his collar?” He points to Liam’s chopsticks when he sees the man try and steal a piece of his fish with his fingers, waiting patiently to hear how Louis planned on responding. 

“No, I actually believed that,” the male replies honestly, taking a drink from his new, ice cold bottle. “Still do. I’m not goin’ around sayin’ it for fun.” 

There’s no reason Zayn _shouldn’t_ believe Louis, but based on how the nine year old version of him went around bragging about how he knew the street prodigy for the first few years of their friendship, he thinks maybe there’s still some humour in the man’s compliment. 

“Got me here, didn’t it?” Louis motions to the crowded sushi restaurant around them with his beer. 

“Your hard work got you here,” Zayn’s quick to correct, not wanting for his friend to believe anything other than that. 

Sure, Zayn got signed and went pro first between the two, and yes it _was_ true that he had put in a good word for his friend at the company when Louis’ skills started to improve tremendously a couple years later, but never would Zayn want credit for being the reason Louis got to where he was. They were friends who just so happen to be born to ride, finding each other in the most random of ways. Although by the way Louis had described his tactics after the encounter, maybe it wasn’t so random to begin with. 

“I’m not in the mood to get all sentimental now Zayn,” Louis ridicules, pouring more soy sauce into his side dish. “You’ve gone and told the story, time to move on.” 

He’s about to, but Liam’s surprising him by starting up with a story of his own. “When I was eight I thought I was going to go to jail.” 

Louis perks up at the hook line, “I’ve gotta hear this one.” 

So does Zayn. He can’t imagine Liam being the criminal type, much less at the age of eight. The guy could keep up with Zayn’s banter, but it’s just too far fetched a concept for him to have a dangerous streak. 

“You know those machines in front of the shops?” They all try and piece together what Liam’s visualizing. “Where you put in 20p and you twist the knob to get a random sticker or whatever?” 

“Why do I have a feeling you should’ve just stopped at ‘going to jail’?” Louis asks, unimpressed tone saying that he regretted getting his hopes up for a thrilling tale. 

Like Zayn, Liam doesn’t take what Louis has to say seriously, going on with his story regardless of the less than enthusiastic encouragement. “It was raining and me Mum was looking for her keys before we went out to the carpark and I was bored. So I went up to each one of the machines and twisted the knobs until I found one that gave me a free army figurine. Threw it in my pocket before anyone could see, but halfway home I just started bawling and outed myself.” 

Now that version of Liam Zayn can believe. 

Louis shoves a piece of nigiri into his mouth, speaking as he chews. “Are you sure this didn’t happen when you were four?” 

Liam’s eyes watch the way Louis uses his chopsticks to pick up a second piece. “My sisters still won’t let me live it down.” 

“And now I won’t either,” Louis admits as he swallows the first piece, putting the second in his mouth. “Cheers.” 

“I once almost adopted a whole animal shelter.” 

Eyebrows furrowed in perplexity at Harry’s confession, Zayn looks down the line at him. “How does that _accidentally_ happen?” 

“My Dad was working with a fundraising company that dealt with animal shelters and I wanted to help. I thought he was just trying to get them all homes, so I called up a place and said we’d take them all. Come to find out my Dad was just designing the ads to attract other people to adopt from the centers.” The male picks up his own roll, chewing it completely before finishing his thought. “Got a kitten out of it for my efforts though.” 

Louis sets his arm around Harry’s waist to give it a squeeze, “Ever the entrepreneur.” 

“We can get the check now,” Zayn protests, looking at their stacked up plates and realizing that even though he was joking, they were probably about ready to leave anyway. 

At the same time as he hears a frustrated sigh from his left that causes him to turn his vision and see Liam hunched over his plate trying to use his chopsticks, Zayn feels Louis put an arm around his torso for a different type of squeeze. A pestering one. “Oh, you’re paying?” Zayn glowers at his friend’s blatant abuse of his words. “Lovely, thanks mate.” 

A bill hasn’t been produced yet, but when it is, Zayn won’t hesitate to throw out his card. He knows that Louis’ just joking, can more than afford his and the other three’s portions, but so can Zayn, and to him, being able to spend his money on things like this was way more valuable than any expensive watch or pair of trainers. Even if the check was only £100. 

“How’s your practice going?” He asks Liam, grinning as he watches the man line up the sticks on either side of the eel roll. 

“I’m getting better.” One stick gives out ten centimeters off the plate. “It’s just because you’re watching,” Liam accuses, pushing the food back upright, as if it being sideways was what made it impossible to pick up. “I was doing great before.” 

“Right, I’m the reason.” Picking up his own sticks, Zayn holds them out for Liam to copy. “Don’t think that’s the proper way you should be treating your teacher, but if it helps your technique, then who am I to stop you?” 

Liam’s lips turn upwards, but he refuses to let go of his critical tone. “Exactly.” Another attempt and another utter failure. “You owe me an embarrassing story, you know.” 

“Says who?” Zayn raises an eyebrow at the claim. 

“We all told one except you,” Liam points out with his focus still surrounding his sushi. 

“Can I get a raincheck?” 

Taking the offer into consideration, Liam relaxes his right hand and peers over at Zayn. “For when?” 

“The day you can use those without me having to look away,” the skater nods to the chopsticks resting between Liam’s fingers. 

Zayn can see the other think about trying to put up a fight, but ultimately concedes, “Fine.” 

Once the word leaves Liam’s mouth, Zayn quickly snags the other’s roll with his chopsticks and pops it into his mouth before the man even knows what’s happening, grinning widely at the shock on Liam’s face from the expert move. 

**Competition Day: +9**

With no clouds floating through the sky, the sun feels extra powerful the next morning. He’d be sweating from exertion anyway, with or without the shade, but Zayn’s glad he picked a dark coloured shirt to hide the perspiration marks that are worsened by the temperature. Thankfully he’s adjusted to the humidity by now, otherwise practicing advanced tricks in whatever random Tokyo suburb he and Niall were in would be infinitely more rigorous. 

For a few weeks now, they had been putting together shots for a sponsor video. Being this close to The Games makes for ideal filming time, seeing as though Zayn shouldn’t be messing up any tricks. At least not any that he planned on performing. If he got a spark of creativity from seeing something in a public space, of course he dared to try something new, so some spills did occur, but they were worth the risk. A promo piece needed its wow moments after all. Not challenging himself with spur of the moment finds in a new city was ludicrous to Zayn. He just wishes there wasn’t the added pressure of having to come off as appealing for it. Not with this scorching heat. 

“You look good,” Niall comments as they take a break from filming to sit on the grass under a nearby tree and escape the heat. 

Swallowing his water, Zayn nods, “Thanks.” 

“Feel alright?” 

The words are code for: how’s your anxiety? It’s a language that Zayn’s grateful his best friend came up with when they were teens, has saved him a lot of aggravation at having to hear things be spelled out. They both know what he struggles with, Zayn doesn’t want to have it said out loud more than is absolutely necessary. 

“Not really,” he says stoically. “But that’s not going to stop me from getting what needs to be done, done.” 

A brown bird lands nearby, stealing Zayn’s attention and causing the boy to wish he had something to throw for it to eat. 

“Knees ok?” 

“Same as always.” Without anything to scavenge, the bird flies away. “Did Liam ever ask you if you had the footage from it?” Zayn asks, eyes turning back to Niall. 

The Irishman starts to unwrap a protein bar from his bag, throwing one at Zayn. “Yeah. Took me a while, but I found it in the cloud.” He bites off a corner of the rectangle. “So Liam, huh?”<br>

“The girl from last night, huh?” 

Zayn peeks up from where he’s opening the snack, smirking at Niall. It was only a matter of time before either his best friend or Louis bugged him about the physio, but with the latter busy in his own fairytale, it makes sense that the male next to him beat Louis to it. 

Niall brings his knees up to his chest, arms resting on top. “I’ve got to pick up your slack, remember?” 

“As long as you’re being careful,” Zayn shrugs in a carefree manner, “more power to ya.” 

“Anyone who’s not is a fuckin’ moron.” Tossing the rest of his wrapper into his backpack, Niall looks out at the passersby. “Have you seen the condoms near every lift? It’s like a goddamn Trojan factory at the Village.” 

He’s midchew, but Zayn still laughs at the analogy. “I’ve seen them yeah. Guess the rumours really are true about what goes on between events.” Swallowing, he reaches for more water and takes another long pull before continuing. “I’m just glad Harry lives off site so I don’t have to deal with that. Basically got the room to myself.” 

“More reason to ask why you haven’t taken advantage of it,” Niall nags, teetering the line between annoying and acting in candid interest. 

Resisting the urge to check his phone, Zayn takes another bite out of the protein bar. “He likes followin’ the rules.” 

“What’s that mean?” Niall turns his head to study Zayn’s expression. “Keepin’ the lights off?” 

Another hearty laugh comes from Zayn’s chest. “No, he doesn’t want to get fired.” 

The question does raise an interesting debate though, and if it weren’t for Niall’s next inquiry, he’d probably have gotten lost in the imagery. 

“Unless he’s terrible in bed, why would you even say anything to Camden?” 

“He doesn’t want to take any chances,” Zayn clarifies in a nonchalant tone, “and I don’t really mind it.” 

Niall’s expression immediately turns to one filled with incredulity. “Really?” 

“Really,” Zayn answers plainly, watching as Niall’s eyes squint at the response. 

“Really though?” 

“Yeah.” 

“But if we’re talking-” 

“Louis’ finally rubbed off on you,” Zayn condemns with a shake of his head to add to his disapproval. 

Shoving the last of his bar into his mouth, Niall chews for a few seconds. “I’m just doing my due diligence as your best mate.” 

“Is that what this is?” Zayn follows suit and finishes what’s left in his hand, using the time to think about how he wants to explain his dynamic with Liam. “He’s nice, fun. A good dancer, I don’t know.” Wiping his hands on his jeans, Zayn leans back on them. “I like spending time with him. It’s like I don’t have to worry about anything when he’s there.” 

“Wife him up,” Niall replies in an instant, the quick response making him second guess his choice of words. “Or husband, whatever the term would be for that.” 

Instead of rolling his eyes like he might have with Louis, Zayn sticks to using a sardonic tone to get his emotions across, always having endlessly more patience with Niall than his other friend. “We’re not getting married.” 

“Maybe not today, but if he can single handedly kill your anxiety, then I think you’ve found yourself a keeper. And me too,” Niall adds seriously. “Do you know how much of a relief it is to not have to worry about b-roll? It’s too bad he had to stay back to be on call.” The man turns his line of vision back to the urban scene in front of them. “Could’ve used him today.” 

He knows that he’s the one who brought it up, but Zayn’s sort of glad that it’s not just him who thinks that the whole Liam being an anxiety antidote isn’t something he should glossover. 

“You’ve got plenty of time to exploit him,” Zayn declares, leaning up again so that he can take his snapback off and push back the hair that’s spilling out the sides. 

Niall’s fast to throw out his next question. “Are you going to the gym later?” 

“No, this is it for the day. Why?” Satisfied with how his hair feels underneath the hat, Zayn leans back once more. 

“Want to get some behind the scenes for the next YouTube video we put up,” Niall informs him, drawing one of many cameras out of his bag. 

Early on Zayn might’ve asked how gym footage qualified as ‘behind the scenes’ or why it was even necessary to begin with, but Niall had long proven his content creation to be quality, and with that came Zayn’s full trust for him to have creative reign over any media project of his. 

“I’m gonna switch off days I think. So you can tag along tomorrow, yeah?” Zayn lets his arms give out, falling back onto the grass fully to relax. 

“Sounds good.” Niall allows his own legs to drop down, grinning to himself at his next thought. “I bet it’d be a cinch to get Liam to help with those shots. Watching you do leg presses? Seems like an easy sell.” 

“Sod off,” Zayn admonishes, closing his eyes. “He doesn’t need to see that I can barely lift my weight. My sack of bones body is much more appealing behind tees.” 

Niall keeps his smile, “If you say so. Don’t say I didn’t try and help.” 

“Trust me, this _would_ be you helping.” Zayn says a silent prayer that this isn’t Louis he’s talking to. Niall will listen to him when he advises against things. Louis didn’t know the meaning of boundaries. “I’d ask if you need _my_ help in any way, but you not eating with us the past few breakfasts tells me my wingman duties aren’t required.” 

“Not yet anyway,” Niall replies in high spirits. “I’ll let you know if I stumble.” 

The two comfortably stay quiet for a few minutes, Zayn’s sense of hearing becoming heightened the longer he keeps his eyes and mouth closed, but he can’t risk getting too comfortable. He doesn’t want his body losing its dexterity from the past couple hours of riding. 

He peeks open an eye to see Niall playing with his camera. “Triple backside over the pipe?” 

Brought out of his own world by the sudden voice directed at him, the male looks behind his shoulder to see Zayn’s awaiting stare. “Let’s get it.” 

— 

Knock, knock, knock. 

Hands running through his wet hair to try and shape it as it dries, Zayn waits in the carpeted hallway for Liam to open his door. Or Kristin, but he’s hoping that the man’s the one to reveal himself. 

“Hi.” 

Zayn’s met with a grey t-shirt clad body, the material stretching over shoulders tightly, but falling loosely around the figure’s small waist. Black polyester joggers appear to sit low on the man’s hips, or at least it seems that way, Zayn can’t tell from the tee covering the trouser’s band. 

It’s exactly what he wanted to see come out from behind the door. 

“Hi,” Zayn greets back to Liam, shifting his weight to his left leg. “I think I tore my ACL.” 

Instantly Liam’s eyes widen, pupils blown out at the casual drop of what was a very _non_ -casual injury. “What!” He’s scanning Zayn’s whole body, panic visibly sinking in. 

“Heard something pop when I landed,” the skater reports, staying stone faced the whole time as Liam looks around to see if anyone else was with him. 

“Oh my god,” he mutters under his breath, reaching forward to position himself shoulder to shoulder with Zayn while still holding the door open with his foot. “Here, lean on me, let’s get you inside.” He doesn’t have much weight to lean, but Zayn still does as he’s told and hobbles his way into the room best he can, grateful that they’re alone. “On a scale of one to ten how bad’s the pain?” Liam asks, his medical instincts finally kicking in after being overpowered by the initial shock of the news. 

“One hundred,” Zayn replies shortly, taking a seat on the edge of Liam’s bed once the man’s easing him down into a low position to do so. 

The physio stands back and surveys Zayn’s facial expression. “You have a high pain tolerance,” he comments with a small amount of skepticism in his tone. 

Zayn simply hums in response, not wanting to give himself away completely. 

“Lay down,” Liam instructs, nodding to the bed’s wooden headboard. “Don’t bend it.” 

Staring at the other’s features that have hardened in concern, Zayn thinks it’s time to end his act. He doesn’t want to scare Liam into the next millennium. “So don’t do this?” Instead of inching his way back with his arms, Zayn bends his knees up onto the mattresses and uses the kinetic energy to push his body backwards. 

Liam nearly launches himself forward to cradle Zayn’s knee himself, but when he sees the smile on the boy’s face, he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes into slits. And not the good kind from smiling like Zayn loves. “Are you taking the piss?” 

“If I tore my ACL, do you think I could’ve made it all the way up here on my own?” Zayn’s made his way up to the pillows, right hand in his hair once more, lips twisted up in an evil fashion. 

“You shouldn’t joke about something like that,” Liam chastens, still clearly upset, but relief starting to find its way into his system now that he knew Zayn hadn’t just potentially ended his career. 

“Aw babe, come on,” Zayn sings, patting the spot next to him on the bed in invitation. “I’m sorry. Is that alright?” 

“No.” Staying where he’s at, Liam drops his arms to his side as some form of surrender. 

“I’ve come to be experimented on. Consider that my apology.” Liam’s face twists into confusion, head tilting to the side just barely as he tries to piece together what that means. “My knee,” Zayn reminds him, pointing to the body part that Liam had been so interested in trying to nurse back to health. 

“Oh,” he lets out as the memory comes back to him. “Right. Does it hurt?” Making his way to the side of the bed, Liam eyes Zayn’s face with caution. “Though I’m not sure if I’ll trust your answer.” 

The bed’s not all that spacious, so Zayn scoots over to make room for the male to sit on the edge. “No, it’s not bad, just aches a bit.” 

Liam inspects the skin from where he’s sitting. “Have you ever gotten it massaged before?” 

“No,” Zayn responds, but he’s more intrigued at the direction this is going. “Are you a masseuse?” 

“I thought we already established that I was full of surprises?” Gone is any fear in Liam, instead the feeling’s replaced by a peek into his ego. “Lay back.” 

Zayn raises his eyebrows, both in surprise and delight. “Oh, we’re really doing this, huh?” 

“You owe me,” Liam puts forward contentiously, one hand on either side of Zayn’s right knee, thumbs pushing on the area outside the knee cap gently and in small circles. 

Zayn’s never met someone with such an unconventional way of being paid back, but when the uneven skin of Liam’s palms cup the bottom portion of his knee, he’s willing to do a lot more to get himself into debt. “So how’s this supposed to help?” He wonders aloud, closing his eyes and letting his head rest against the wood behind him so he can fully appreciate the man’s way with his hands. 

“It increases blood flow and reduces tension build up.” 

Zayn stays quiet at the information, eyes scrunching up for a second when Liam presses into a rough nerve, but they relax again when the male softly drags the skin of the area downwards in an effort to remind Zayn that he was there to make things better, not hurt him. “So uh, what’d you do today?” Zayn asks, trying to remain neutral with his tone so Liam doesn’t get any satisfaction at knowing how much he was enjoying this. 

“Hung around here. Nothing all that exciting.” Rough fingertips dig into the underside, searching for any knots that might be present. “Read up on a few articles that I’ve been meaning to get to.” 

“About?” 

“Ligaments.” 

Zayn has to clear his throat before he replies when he feels both of Liam’s hands embrace the entire area and squeeze tenderly, “Cool.” 

“What’d you do?” 

Again, Zayn collects himself first rather than speaking immediately once Liam switches to making his own pulsations with both pairs of pointer and middle fingers. “Shot some footage for this promo video I’m meant to do. Was my practice for the day.” 

“Did you just finish?” 

“I showered, but yeah.” Zayn’s eyes shoot open when Liam takes his hands away for more than a few seconds. “Was that it?” 

Hearing how eager Zayn was for him to continue has Liam biting his lip to stop himself from seeming too smug. “Have you ever used cryotherapy?” 

“Did you forget I’m a one man show?” He bends his knee now that Liam’s apparently done, much to Zayn’s disappointment. “I don’t even know what that is.” 

Liam stands up in between the two double beds, “I think you should try it, but you should only really do it within a certain window after working out, so we should go now.” 

Zayn doesn’t even bother to ask where it was they needed to go to try it out, he’s still let down that his personal masseuse wasn’t by his side anymore. “What happened to my massage?” 

“I want to try this instead,” Liam says as he waits expectantly for Zayn to get up. 

“Who said you get two experiments in one day?” 

Zayn’s accusation doesn’t faze Liam in the least. “I did. Now come on.” 

Mustering up the energy, Zayn sighs as he rolls himself off the bed. 

\- 

“So what exactly is crypto therapy?” Zayn asks as they walk down the hallways of the extensive gym that their building had on the ground floor. 

“Cryo,” Liam corrects with a short laugh, “And it’s a freezing technique that you do for up to three minutes. In your case it’ll help cell regeneration and decrease inflammation. You don’t have a lot at the moment, but there’s some inside if you’ve got minimal aching.” 

Glancing to the man on his right, Zayn becomes apprehensive. “How freezing?” 

“Negative 110,” Liam says after feeling the male looking at him and stealing his own glimpse for a moment. 

“Celcius!?” Now Zayn was the one who was panicking. 

“Some people do 125, but I think you should start with 110,” Liam educates, the fact that he’s not surprised by Zayn’s response telling the skater that he knew Zayn wouldn’t be up for this when he initially suggested it back in the room. 

“I think I should start above zero like the earth’s atmosphere intended,” Zayn argues, contemplating yanking Liam’s arm and demanding he finish his innocent massage, but deciding against it in the end. “So do you like, put an ice pack on my knee or what?” 

Liam shakes his head, “You stand in a metal chamber that goes up to your neck, and when I turn it on, it’ll shoot out cold air.” 

The image Liam’s painting makes Zayn think of something out of a superhero film, except not the part where the hero saves the day. 

_More like a torture chamber,_ he thinks. “Do I have a chance to go back upstairs and get a jumper?” 

“No, you go in with just your pants and socks.” Liam produces a badge from his pocket and uses it to unlock the door in front of them. 

“Pants only?” Zayn thanks his lucky stars as he passes through the door Liam’s holding open for him that he chose to wear a plain black pair that day and nothing embarrassing like that pair of Sesame Street trunks that his Mum had bought him. “Wait, this is just supposed to be for my knee. Why the fuck do I need to have my whole body put in this ‘chamber’?” 

“You can’t concentrate on an area with that sort of temperature. It’s not good for uneven distribution.” Zayn thinks it’s not good for a lot more reasons than that. “You’re putting your body in shock essentially.” 

“No yeah, I got that part,” he sniggers, letting Liam lead the way once more. “Have you done this before on yourself?” 

“Yeah, I do it a lot actually,” Liam discloses, stopping in front of a door on their right. 

When Zayn steps in, it’s hard for him to notice anything other than the massive contraption up against the wall. “You’re crazy,” he mumbles, walking forward but waiting for further instruction on what the next step was to being frozen to death. 

Liam passes him, pointing to where there’s a room partition set up on the left. “You can get undressed behind there and tell me when you’re in.” 

As he goes behind the accordion decorated in a japanese cherry blossom pattern, Zayn eyes the silver machine. “So, do you do it as like, a preventative thing for yourself, or?” 

“I have scar tissue in my left knee from an injury when I was younger.” Even though Zayn’s taking off his clothes, he still pays attention to every word Liam’s saying. “I had surgery, but I’m an active person, so yeah, I guess it’s preventative in the sense that I can’t push myself like I used to, but doing this once or twice a week let’s me still run.” 

“Yeah, you do run a lot,” Zayn says as he balances himself while taking off one of his shoes - an easy task for someone whose job it is to stay upright. 

He’s more than impressed when he hears Liam reply with, “A lot less than I used to.” 

“Damn,” Zayn voices as he places both shoes neatly under the chair provided. “You really like running then.” 

“I used to compete.” 

It’s not that Zayn’s completely surprised, Liam clearly had the discipline it takes to be an athlete, along with the build, but it’s hard to tell just how serious the other was using the word ‘compete’. “Oh yeah? In Uni?” 

“No, in primary and secondary school.” 

Oh, so he was basically like the rest of the population in that they were on some sort of sports team when they were younger for the social aspect. Still, Zayn’s curious in learning about that phase of the other’s life, since Liam wouldn’t have such a stern voice talking about it if it didn’t mean something to him. “Were you any good?” 

Right as he steps into the open chamber, Liam responds. “I got hurt a week before my trials for the 2012 Games.” 

Zayn stares at the back of Liam’s head, heart dropping at the confession. It all makes sense now: the way he had fled the scene the morning they saw each other after Zayn made a comment about his speed, knowing people who worked with The Olympics that were able to get him the job, how he did his best to hide how afraid he was every time Zayn fell, even though Zayn still saw the flash of tension leave Liam’s face each time he stood up. 

“Are you done?” 

“What?” Zayn replies subconsciously, realizing that he was supposed to have told Liam when he was finished undressing. “Oh um, yeah.” 

The man doesn’t look up when he turns around, instead goes straight to messing with the chamber’s settings. Even with the amount of time that’s past, Zayn can’t seem to find the words to say. Something as simple as Liam’s career choice and the seriousness that he gives it seems to come together in a new light, right down to his speciality in muscle tears. 

“You don’t have to feel bad, you know.” Liam peaks up from the screen to see Zayn staring down at him, tone telling the skater that he’s more than used to getting overwhelming sympathy as a first reaction. 

“I just don’t know how you’re handling all this,” Zayn says honestly, not wanting to act fake in any way, Liam doesn’t deserve that. “Being here when it’s…” 

“Not me?” The man hands over white gloves, “Here, put these on.” Once Zayn’s grabbed them, Liam goes to close the door to the cylinder. “I didn’t know how I’d handle it either, but I applied because I thought it could give me some sort of fulfillment just being this close to it all. That or the proximity would throw it in my face to the nth degree.” 

“And?” 

Sure the basic puzzle pieces aligned now, but even so, Zayn found himself struggling to understand how Liam could be this put together with a past like that. God knows he probably wouldn’t be able to ever get on a board again if he got that close, only for it to be ripped out from underneath him. 

“I’m somewhere in the middle,” Liam admits, Zayn nodding along since he doesn’t want to say anything else and risk pushing the invisible limits between them. “I think it’d be more towards the latter if I was assigned running. But then I never would’ve met you.” They both grin, Zayn down towards where he’s slipping the oversized gloves on and Liam back at the computer screen. “Think you’re helping me see the good side of things.” 

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes easily. “You’re doing the same for me.” 

When he looks up, he sees Liam staring back at him, warmth that Zayn’s identified as part of his personality radiating from his gentle grin. They stay looking between each other for a handful of seconds before Liam breaks the silence. “So are you ready?” 

Zayn takes a deep breath, “You’re sure this isn’t going to render me childless?” 

“I’ve been doing it for years,” Liam chuckles lightly. “I’m sure.” 

Adjusting himself nervously, Zayn continues to watch the other. “Yeah and you don’t have any kids.” He raises his right eyebrow, “Do you?” 

Liam shakes his head fondly, “Not yet.” 

“Then how are we to know that you’re still fertile if you don’t have any kids to show for it?” It’s a line straight out of Louis’ playbook, but Zayn doesn’t even care, he’s partially serious. 

“I’m starting the machine,” Liam decides, pressing a single button that triggers the air to fill the chamber like dry ice. 

“Shit!” Zayn exclaims loudly, nearly jumping back at the bursts of cold, but realizing he’s got nowhere to go. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. I distinctly remember telling you how much I hate the cold.” 

There’s only a small amount of humour to Liam’s facial expression; he still makes sure his responsible nature takes precedence. “You can tap out if you really want, but try and make it through the three minutes.” More amusement leaks through when he sees Zayn attempt to hop around. “Are you cold?” 

“I’m doing my best not to think about it,” Zayn says between clattering teeth. 

Feeling the scruff under his chin with the tops of his fingers, Liam brightens with an idea. “What’s your favourite film?” 

“The Godfather,” Zayn answers without even having to think. 

“Colour?” 

His eyes light up as he sees where Liam’s going with this. “Green.” 

“Um, tea with milk or sugar?” 

“Sugar.” 

“Niall or Louis?” 

Zayn laughs at the this or that. “What?” 

“You gotta pick.” Liam sticks his thumbs under the band of his joggers, waiting patiently. 

“Niall,” Zayn choses, wanting to keep up with the quizzing and not risk his brain focusing on the clouds of ice. 

“Night in or out?” 

“Depends,” he sways, “but probably in.” 

“Who’s your hero?” 

“My dad, or Rodney Mullen.” 

Liam pauses with a look of inquisitiveness at the answer, but keeps up with the rapid pace instead. “Boxers or briefs?” 

“Briefs.” A small smirk comes over Zayn’s lips, “What about you?” 

“I’m the one asking the questions,” Liam counters firmly, no room for negotiation. “Secret talent?” 

Zayn does his best not to let his smile widen further at the man’s no nonsense attitude over something so juvenile. “It’s not really a secret, but I do graffiti.” 

Looks like Liam’s found something worth wanting him to elaborate on, “Of what?” 

“Anything.” The opportunity’s too good to pass up. “You’re good inspiration,” he declares in an overly charming intonation. 

Liam bites, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” In the past Zayn had made sure to keep his wandering eyes to himself, but with a meter and what looked to be bulletproof steel between them, he let himself give the male a thorough once over. “Buy me a few cans and I’ll draw you a mural.” 

Liam’s blushing from the romantic gesture that Zayn’s offering, or at least that’s what it looks like from where the skater’s stood. “What’s your favourite feature of mine?” 

“I only get to pick one?” Zayn challenges, wanting to keep the man in this state of bashfulness for as long as he could. 

Unhooking his thumbs, Liam pockets his hands. “For now.” 

“Your smile.” 

The answer seems to throw the physio off, not at all the sexually charged response he was expecting. From the way Liam’s diverting his curved up lips to the ground, Zayn can tell he hit a soft spot. 

“Favourite tattoo?” 

“On you?” Zayn looks for clarification. He hadn’t seen much of Liam’s body besides what the man put on display, so he really could only go by what was on his arms if that was the case. 

“No.” Liam glances back up, “on you.” 

“My Grandad’s name. It was my first.” 

“Favourite superhero?” 

“Deadpool.” Trying to stand on his tiptoes to look at the screen, Zayn grasps his hands together tightly. “How much longer?” 

Liam checks the timer, “A minute. If you weren’t skating, what would you be doing?” 

“Something _with_ skating. I love it too much. Designing boards maybe?” Zayn’s ready for the onslaught of questions like before, but Liam’s taking a longer pause than normal. “Come on!” 

“I’m trying to think up something!” Liam proclaims, the laughter following his words not helping in their defensive purpose. “First kiss?” 

“I was ten.” 

“Pet peeve?” 

Zayn draws his brows together, “People who trick me into cryo chambers.” 

“I didn’t trick you into anything! I told you exactly what it was,” Liam vows as he continues to hold a vivacious smile. 

He can’t deny the other’s attractiveness, but Zayn still feigns annoyed. “Next.” 

“Favourite rapper?” 

“Who says I listen to rap?” 

Liam’s smile drops some at how petulant Zayn was being, “just answer the question.” 

“Tupac.” 

“Top bucket list item?” 

Zayn catches himself before he frowns at Liam’s lack of commentary on his person of choice. He then wonders if he should say his real response at the next question, given what Liam had just shared a few minutes prior. “Winning gold.” 

“Besides that,” Liam dismisses, unaffected by the topic. 

“Teaching my kids how to skate.” 

Unlike Liam, Zayn didn’t have many things to do to distract him or shield his emotions due to his current situation, so when Liam inspects him after hearing his answer, he can’t do anything other than stare back. 

A loud beeping fills the room and Zayn looks down to see that the air’s stopped pumping into the space around him, causing the temperature to instantly change back to something resembling normal. 

“Get me out of here,” he demands jokingly, jumping down from the platform once Liam’s opened the door for him. “Just so you know,” he starts as he makes his way behind the divider to slip his clothes back on. “I don’t feel any different.” 

“It’s been ten seconds,” Liam chuckles from where he is on the other side of the partition. “Give it a few more treatments and then get back to me.” 

Mid-shirt over his head, Zayn’s eyes bug out at the thought of having to go through that _several_ more times. “Uh, yeah, we’ll see about that. Might have to add it to my list of rainchecks.” 

“You can’t just chuck everything into a save it for later category.” 

Zayn thinks he can at least try. “Many would beg to differ.” When he comes back around, he hands Liam the gloves. “I don’t recall putting your massages on hold.” 

“No, that was me,” Liam points out as he tosses the gloves onto the seat near the settings screen. 

“Well I don’t think that’s fair. How do we know they’re not the magic solution?” Some might call it a dirty move, using Liam’s experimental ways against him, but there’s some truth to his words. For all they know, the massages could genuinely be the key to solving Zayn’s knee problem, and with the look of resignation on Liam’s face, he knows the other realizes this. 

“I’ll give you another one tomorrow,” Liam promises, holding open the door for Zayn to exit, the older of the two grinning ear to ear at winning such a prize. 

**Competition Day: +8**

Pumping iron was never Zayn, and he doesn’t think that it ever really will be, but he also knows that if he wants to stay fit and keep his impressive health record clean competing in an extreme sport, he’s got to condition his body outside of just clearing boxes. Before Camden enforced the gym time, Zayn didn’t see the point, but he figured that the extra work out couldn’t hurt his chances of being as prepared as he could possibly be for the event next week. 

There were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of articles online that claimed the endorphins from working out reduced stress. This wasn’t new knowledge to Zayn, yet as he showered after an hour session of squats and lifting weights, he still felt a nervous itch under his skin. 

It’s a feeling that isn’t new, not in the least. Zayn’s become accustomed to it over the years, considers it a part of who he is now, come competition season - a devilish part. As he’s gotten older, Zayn’s tried to think of the moment when it started, but he can’t pinpoint a specific memory, just remembers that all of a sudden it was there, and in full force. He’s had to learn how to live with it when it sneaks up on him, and that includes getting creative when something that worked well in the past starts to get too comfortable, becoming immune to the sensation. At one point he fell into a dark place from the frustration of having to battle something so evasive. Luckily Niall was quick to pull him out before it got too bad. Now he tries to see the positive side of getting to explore new vices, like sitting across from Liam at a traditional Japanese tea house. 

What stemmed from Zayn missing the ability to ask his Mum for a cuppa after a rough training session, led to him asking Harry if there were any places he recommended for tea in the city. Finding a spot wasn’t the problem, it was the fact that reservations only came for parties of two or more, and while Harry had offered to come, Zayn knew that also meant Louis wouldn’t be far behind and the whole point of the booking was to relax. Time with Louis wasn’t always that. 

Niall was always an option, and while his best mate usually took advantage of wherever they were posted up for a contest, Zayn knew that Liam would appreciate the speciality of the tea house more than Niall. The boy would probably rather edit or take a nap anyways. 

“Adding this to the Tokyo bucket list, just so I can cross it off.” Liam makes a ticking motion in the air with his pointer finger as he adjusts to sitting on the wood paneled flooring. 

Getting comfortable himself on top of the floor cushion, Zayn replies, “I’m surprised you didn’t have it on there to begin with.” 

“Me too,” the physio comments while taking in the minimalistic room around them. There’s a low, wooden table in front of them with several cups and tea pots filled with hot water. Exposed panels decorate the walls of the spacious room, along with thin paper ‘windows’ that allow the outside sunlight to act as their main source of lighting. “I don’t know how I overlooked it.” 

Zayn doesn’t know either. When he offered up the invitation to Liam after dropping by his room for a post gym massage, he was shocked to hear that the man hadn’t thought to add it to his list. Tea. Japan. They seemed like two things that went hand in hand, especially with a travel guide to reference, but apparently Liam missed that chapter. 

“Some people associate tea with China more,” Zayn suggests, hoping to make the other not feel as bad for overlooking the delicacy. 

Liam inspects the various dry teas that are in their jars, some leaves, some ground up flowers, some that looked like roots. “I associate tea with home.” 

“Yeah me too.” Zayn instantly thinks of his Mum and what got him here in the first place. “But I mean internationally.” 

“Do you like it better from home or abroad?” Brown eyes look up to hazel, inquisitiveness swimming in them. 

“Black tea, of course home,” Zayn replies with a confident tone. “But other kinds? Abroad.” 

“America has rubbish tea,” Liam degrades as he goes back to investigating the fancy settings in front of them. 

A small laugh falls from Zayn’s lips. He’d spent a good majority of his teen years in America and concurs. There was no room for debate. “Yeah, I agree with you there.” 

“Is this better than Chinese?” Liam picks up his small grey ceramic mug, which resembles a drinking cup more than something you’d sip hot liquid out of. Both men’s hands can grip one with their fingers easily wrapping around the full ceramic. 

“Nah, they have their own good stuff.” Cupping his mug with both hands to calm his body, an act that might seem counterproductive given the heat outside, Zayn takes a cautious sip of his green tea. “I know when we went to our first few competitions there, we tried out a bunch of different kinds. Green teas, white teas, saffron teas.” He sets down his cup, eyes gleaming at the memory that’s coming to him. “There was this amazing saffron one that we tried in Shanghai. It’s one of those things where I know that even if I bought it and took it back with me to London, I would never be able to replicate the taste.” 

Liam’s setting down his own mug on the table, face contemplative as he figures out if he likes the taste of what he’s just taken a drink of. “You’re making me look more uncultured as the days go on.” 

Zayn’s about to apologize for the second time for talking about his life in a way that makes the other feel subordinate, but when he sees Liam hold a hint of a smile, he knows there’s no offense taken. “You’re the one who asked,” he murmurs. 

“So what’d you think of the cryotherapy?” Liam takes a long smell of the tea brewed in his mug before taking another drink. 

Disgust comes over Zayn’s features at the reminder of the day before, his voice matching the expression, “I hated it.” 

He’s got his mouth full of the warm tea, matcha, he identifies by the leafy, vegetal flavour, when Liam asks, “But do you feel any different?” 

Instead of swallowing right away, Zayn lets the taste sit in his mouth for a few seconds, observing Liam watch him do so in curiosity. “What happened to needing a few treatments before being able to tell?” His tone’s full of amusement when he finally gets the words out. 

“Significantly sure,” Liam reckons, looking into his mug to see how much he has left of the tea, tilting the vessel back when he deems it safe to down the contents in one go. “But some people take to it immediately.” 

“Like I said,” Zayn pauses dramatically so Liam looks at him, instead of figuring out what tea he’s going to try next. “I preferred your massage.” 

Whether or not Liam likes giving the massages as much as he enjoys receiving them, Zayn’s not sure, but until the physio complains, he’s going to keep asking for them as a means of recovery as much as can be argued normal. 

“I gave you one after the gym today,” Liam recounts with a knowing expression. 

Obviously the male can tell what Zayn’s getting at, but he still chooses to praise him, “And it was magical.” 

Pushing the jars around, Liam keeps his eyes cast downward. “I still want to try cryo a couple more times.” 

“As long as I get to keep my massage privileges,” Zayn remarks, taking notice of how keyed in to every detail Liam was as he made his next choice. Thankfully the host had already gone through the ceremonial brewing portion of the sit down experience, so the two just needed to pour whatever caught their eye, no extra brew time needed. 

“Be good and you will.” 

The comment throws Zayn off, his eyes begging to meet Liam’s, but the boy keeps them focused on the light brown tea he’s deciding on. It’s bringing up a small fire in Zayn’s abdomen, thoughts conjured up of him saying that in another setting other than the sophisticated one they were currently in. “Be good he says…” Zayn trails off, passing his cup to Liam for him to fill. 

“Kristin’s taking the BMX morning heats tomorrow,” the man starts, switching topics completely. “Do you want to go out for breakfast?” 

Zayn takes back his full mug, setting it down so it can cool a bit before he tests it. He uses the time to comprehend what it is that Liam’s asking of him. “Are you asking me on a date?” Far fetched is the last thing he’d call the idea, but Liam was the one who said he wasn’t down for that, no matter the brazen flirting they partook in on a daily basis. 

“Is this a date?” Liam challenges back without hesitation. 

_Touché_ , Zayn thinks. 

“Where do you want to go?” He feels his mug impatiently to decipher if it was acceptable to sip from. 

“Wanna check off the pancake breakfast on my list.” Unlike Zayn, Liam doesn’t wait, sips the oolong quickly. The skater wants to know how the hell he didn’t burn his tongue. “I had Harry pick me out a place to get reservations.” 

“Thought you had that place on Instagram already picked out?” 

Touching the outside of his mug again, Zayn decides that nope, his mug’s still too hot. What was Liam’s trick? 

“I did,” Liam starts, “but they don’t take reservations and I didn’t think you’d want to get up earlier than normal now that your jet lag has settled, just to wait in line.” 

The first thing that comes to Zayn’s mind is how Liam’s managed to piece him together so perfectly after only knowing him for such a short amount of time. The second thing is how presumptuous he was about the whole thing. “So you knew I’d say yes?” 

Liam takes in Zayn’s smug disposition, but to the athlete's surprise, he doesn’t play off it. “I was hoping,” Liam replies sincerely. “If not, I would’ve just taken Harry or gone by meself.” 

Rather than focus on Liam’s open genuineness, Zayn takes away how easy it seems for the other to be ok with spending time alone doing something as awkward as eating out. It says a lot about how comfortable Liam is with himself and how individualistic he can be. It’s a turn on honestly. 

“Can’t have that,” Zayn replies with charm. “Should I wear my tux?” 

“You brought a tux?” 

Endearment encircles the skater at Liam’s need to actually ask that, his look of bewilderment adding to the overall picture. “It’s called a joke babe,” Zayn smiles, loving how the man across from him copies the action. “Brought a suit just in case I had to go to something fancy, but I was merely mockin’ your pancake place.” 

“I’m gonna be so gutted if it ends up being all for show and tastes horrible.” Liam’s smile falters at the possibility of his nightmare coming true. 

Feeling his mug once more, Zayn brings it up to his lips to blow. “Isn’t everything on Instagram fake?” 

“I’m just gonna hope for the best,” Liam concedes as he takes another drink of the light tea smoothly. 

_What the hell?_

Zayn lets out a small, “alright”, before he braves the heat and finally drinks from his mug. 

A woman dressed in a traditional kimono bows before walking into the room with a tray of more, already brewed teas. Zayn and Liam both lower their heads in respectful acknowledgement. They stay quiet as the woman takes away what was on the short table and replaces it with a new selection, Zayn sending her a closed mouth smile when they catch eyes for a moment. 

“Do you feel relaxed?” Liam asks once she’s left, closing the sliding wooden door behind her softly. 

Steam billows from every one of the pots, causing Zayn to merely watch Liam pour himself another cup. “More than normal.” 

“That’s good,” Liam affirms as he fearlessly takes a drink of the dark coloured tea that’s no doubt piping hot. From the twisted up face he makes, Zayn doesn’t think that the heat’s the problem. 

“Not a fan?” He laughs fondly, making sure not to look away as Liam tries to figure out what to do with his mug that’s full of a drink he wants nothing to do with. 

“Too bitter,” the man explains, an air of gratefulness coming over him when Zayn switches their mugs, already on to determining what will be his next selection straight after. 

For Zayn, part of being relaxed is just doing normal things, and right then that included watching Liam just _be_ in his environment, unapologetically. There’s no right or wrong to what he’s doing, no consequences to being curious or punishment for letting his fingers touch whatever he wants, once, twice, maybe three times if he deems it necessary. Even as a twenty six year old, Liam treats the world like its his playground, and Zayn doesn’t know how anyone can find that anything _but_ relaxing. 

“Do you do this a lot then?” Liam inquires before he takes one of the saucers that contains the powder brewed in the pot next to it, and inhales deeply, eyebrows rising in pleasant surprise. “Try new things, I mean, or is it just to help alleviate whatever pressures your feeling at the moment?” 

Immediately Zayn thinks about how he’s a homebody in London, doesn’t go out much like he used to when he was a lot younger and full of pent up energy that skating couldn’t get rid of. Now he likes to try new things when he wants, or when Louis forces him to, but the things that he does partake in are much more aligned with his quiet nature. 

He watches Liam pour himself a healthy amount of the aromatic tea. “Skating to me is relaxing.” 

“Except for when it’s not,” Liam replies quickly, but with confidence to his words. 

Zayn’s taken aback by how on the nose the other’s input was. “Yeah,” he utters. 

“You’re lucky you’re so self aware,” Liam commends, sitting up straight and leaving the tea alone to show Zayn he’s serious. “To be able to get a hold on things before they take over.” 

The male lets out a pathetic laugh. Liam hasn’t seen him close to competition time yet. He might think differently then. “It’s not as easy as it looks,” Zayn expresses, only keeping their eye contact for a few seconds before needing to look away. 

“I’m sure it’s not.” Again, Liam speaks with humility, honesty. 

Zayn can hear it in his voice - the sensitivity. It’s a trait that he reveres, but doesn’t take his attention away from staying honed in on the new set of teas, feeling Liam’s eyes on him as he does so. “Do you find reading your meniscus articles relaxing?” He asks in an attempt to lift the spirits of the conversation. 

“In a way.” Liam pushes the pot of tea he’s just poured towards Zayn, a gesture that the other thinks means he wants them to try it together. “Knowing that I’m up to date on things, eliminates the worry that I won’t be prepared in every situation.” 

“You can’t know _everything_ ,” Zayn debates as he drinks what Liam had previously rendered too bitter to finish and replaces it with the tea that was motioned to him. 

Liam blows on his mug carefully, “No, but I can try.” 

Observing the man across from him as he takes a drink, Zayn feels himself grin at the range of rapturous emotions playing over Liam’s features. “Not as bitter?” 

Liam shakes his head, “It’s sweet, naturally, even though it tastes like there’s sugar.” 

“So you like it?” Zayn checks, bringing his own mug up to his lips, but sensing that it was still far too hot for him to drink from. 

“A lot.” As if to prove his words, Liam takes a second sip. 

Like he had in the past, Zayn just lets his brain say what it felt. “We’ll get you some.” 

Instead of putting up a fight or commenting on Zayn’s free speech, Liam simply asks, “What if I can’t replicate it when I’m back home?” 

Maybe it’s the way that the other stares at Zayn with concern at his inexperience with tea that makes the skater feel Liam carve a path into his mind. 

“Something tells me you’ll be able to.” 

**Competition Day: +7**

Riding the metro was never a good idea first thing in the morning, no matter where you were in the world. So riding the _Tokyo_ metro at 9AM was basically a death wish. If it weren’t for the look of pure elation at getting to try out these hipster pancakes that Liam gave him when they met in the hallway that morning, Zayn would’ve told him to get lost when he heard what time they were supposed to board the train to Harajuku. 

As a kid, Zayn would hide in between the clothing racks whenever his Mum made him go shopping, sometimes to escape having to try something on, other times just to get away from all the busyness going on in the aisles. He’d take his gameboy and sit in the throngs of linen circled around him until his Mum called out his name. Being sardined in the carriage felt a lot like those instances, except the suits were filled with real bodies and no comfort was to be had by the nonexistent privacy. Really, the only upside was that one of those bodies was Liam’s. It afforded Zayn the luxury of not having to come up with an excuse to feel the defined body, though he _was_ still trying to come up with a way to see it uncovered. 

After having survived the masses, Zayn finds himself standing in front of a glass pane inside of the pancake restaurant, watching as a worker flips the wobbling stacks on the griddle. 

“Remind me again why this was on your list?” He asks as they wait for the next table to be cleared off. 

When Liam takes out his phone to film the next golden brown mass be turned over, Zayn nearly grabs the device out of his hand in protest. “The city’s known for having quirky food,” Liam states as he tries to get the right angle, “and I don’t think there’s a single place in London that serves these.” 

Zayn does agree with him about the quirky food, thinking back to the afternoon before when they had gone out to get Liam one of those taiyaki desserts that he wanted to try so badly. “No robot cafe then?” He teases, even though he wouldn’t put it past Liam to want to go. 

“I’d rather see a sumo match,” the man replies, replaying his video to make sure that it was good enough to save. 

A waitress comes to take them to their seats, and as she does, Zayn can tell that by the look on Liam’s face, he still hasn’t managed to get tickets to a match with the amount of tourists in town. 

They’re not even sat down yet before Liam points to the picture of what he wants. His eagerness makes Zayn shake his head, but he quickly changes to nodding for the waitress to know that he meant he’d be having the same thing, to disregard his shakes. 

“Wish they had the sugar count on this thing,” Zayn says as he looks over the advertisement on the table for the famous pancakes, completely comfortable in his seat. 

Liam glances at the laminated card from across the small corner table, “I can almost guarantee it’s not within your daily limit.” 

“Good thing you’re not in charge of my nutrition,” Zayn converses, standing the ad back up on the edge of the table. “Then you’d actually get fired.” 

“One splurge will be alright.” Leaning back in his seat, Liam’s joints crack, causing Zayn to wince. “Where’s practice for you today?” 

“Venue I think,” he replies, trying not to stare at the other’s left short sleeve that’s halfway folded. 

Liam looks down and sees what Zayn’s transfixed by, correcting the material so that it’s not wrinkled once he notices the crease. “Can I come watch?” 

Relieved by the small correction, Zayn glances up to Liam’s eyes. “You don’t need to ask,” he responds with perplexity. 

The physio shrugs, “Just wanted to cover my bases.” 

It’s remarkable how Liam knows how to simplistically handle certain topics, and when to lay off others. Zayn likes that he has the ability to _sense_ boundaries and only push the touchy ones briefly. You can’t teach a person a skill like that. 

All Zayn wants to do is ask him about his running, since that seems like the logical thing to do with them talking about Zayn’s sport, but he realizes then that he doesn’t know much about Liam other than what he sees on the surface, or what he can tell about his personality based on how he treats Zayn. 

“We should try you wearing a brace while you practice, if not just for a few tricks to see what it feels like.” 

Liam’s words cut Zayn’s thoughts short, their subject making the skater roll his eyes. This much he knows about Liam already - the man loves his job. It makes Zayn wonder what he’s like back home and out of a work environment. 

“I agree to come with you _outside_ of work and you can’t help yourself.” Zayn’s got a carefree expression, but he’s very much serious in his meaning. 

“Fine,” Liam relents, playing with the napkin in front of him. “What do you want to talk about?” 

“What do you do for fun?” 

Instead of answering Zayn’s question with a simple answer, Liam offers a question of his own. “What do you mean?” 

Zayn can’t stop himself from laughing. Liam’s great at being able to learn about someone else, but apparently not so much at having people learn about _him_. “What do you mean, what do I mean? What do you enjoy doing?” 

Based off what the boy’s got on his Tokyo list, he can take a guess, but Zayn wants to hear it from Liam’s mouth. 

“Besides working out?” 

This was not meant to be this hard. “Besides anything even remotely having to do with the human body,” Zayn clarifies, then seeing that he’s stumped the man in front of him. “You really can’t think of anything?” 

Liam shifts in his seat uncomfortably, “I mean, I play a lot of sport, but that’s not an answer that’s allowed so…” 

In order to rid Liam of his constrictive mood, Zayn tries something easier, “Well what’d you do as a kid then? Besides steal.” 

The skater’s glad to see Liam smile at the recollection, but not at his answer. “Run.” 

“Right,” Zayn nods, eyes trailing over to the table next to theirs. 

“You think I’m boring…” 

Snapping his vision back to Liam, Zayn hates how the other looks so defeated. “I don’t, I just…” How does he put it? “You’re kind of a workaholic if that’s the case.” 

“So are you then,” Liam accuses, but not roughly, objectively rather. 

Accent thick, Zayn doesn't hesitate to refute the claim, “I’m most definitely not.” 

“Just because your job’s a lot cooler than mine, doesn’t mean that your obsession with it doesn’t count as being an overachiever.” The table next to them is served their food, causing Liam to eyeball the jiggling pancakes with envy. 

“If I was a workaholic,” Zayn starts, keeping his eyes on Liam instead of the food he’s ogling at, “would I be sat here eating with you eight days out from the biggest competition of my career?” 

“I’m not working either,” Liam replies, finding his way back to looking at his company. 

“You just tried to go on about _another_ one of your methods that you want to test out on me while we’re in a very date like setting, but not on a date.” Raising his eyebrows, Zayn instinctively bends his knee under the table. 

“Sorry that one of us wants your knee to heal in whatever way it can, after you neglected it for this long.” 

“I-” Zayn exhales with a fond smile. “Liam, I appreciate what you’re doing, I _really_ do, but you’ve gotta loosen up a bit.” Coming from someone with an anxiety disorder, the words are ironic. “Can’t even tell me one thing you enjoy doing besides exercising or learning about exercising.” 

“I like fashion,” the man offers, trying to redeem himself in some way instead of being left to flounder trying to defend his affinity towards physical exercise. 

Zayn’s taken by surprise at the insight, “Do you?” 

“Yeah,” Liam confirms, seeing a waiter come their way, but divert to another table, leaving him disappointed. “I know I wear a lot of athletic stuff around the Village, but that’s just because it’s practical for the job and comfortable if I’m not going to be needed for the day.” 

He had noticed that Liam dressed up nicer than usual anytime they were outside the confines of Olympic property, the forest green polo that he had worn to tea to try and come off as formal in the blistering heat, Zayn’s favourite look so far, but he hadn’t realized that the boy was serious about it. 

“Do you like Nike?” 

Liam betters his posture, “Sure.” 

“When we get back home I’ll send you some stuff,” Zayn promises. “They’re one of my sponsors, so I get a fuck load of free clothes from them all the time. Usually I’d be able to go into a store here and pretty much take what I want, but there’s a bunch of regulations and shit on sponsors during the Olympics, so it’s easier if I just wait until we’re home.” 

Specifications aside, Liam seems pleased at the future gifts, “That’d be ace, thanks.” 

“So are we talkin’ like athleisure stuff or proper suits or what?” 

They had yet to be in a setting where the occasion called for anything formal, but the glimpse at Liam’s more prim wardrobe from their afternoon together the day before had Zayn’s imagination dancing with thoughts of what the man would look like in a suit. 

“Anything really,” Liam tells him openly. “I like switchin’ things up. Really like trainers and backpacks.” 

In an effort to stay respectful, Zayn refrains from sticking his head under the table to see what shoes Liam was wearing. Trainers most likely, but he couldn’t think back to when they were standing to remember what kind. “After this we should go shopping,” he suggests without much consideration. 

A corner of Liam’s mouth lifts, “I’m down. I read this was one of the most famous fashion districts in the world.” 

In his travel guide no doubt. “You should be in heaven then.” 

“I think I’m in heaven now.” 

Zayn turns his head behind him to see a waitress headed straight for them with two plates of three pancakes each. Both men say a small ‘arigato’ in thanks, but Liam’s the first to dig into the food, only taking the time to put his napkin in his lap before cutting a piece out with his fork. As he watches the male take a bite, Zayn holds his breath. He really doesn’t know what he’ll have to do if the almighty Instagram has failed the boy. 

“Amazing,” Liam grins in bliss. 

Thank god. 

Zayn eyes him gently, “I’m glad.” 

For the rest of the meal they go on to talk about Liam’s trainer collection and the Fendi backpack that he’s been saving up for in a hurry before the red and blue monster face design he wants goes out of season. Between the two of them, Zayn’s always been quieter, listening attentively while Liam chats away, yet with the subject being one centered around the latter, Zayn finds that Liam’s a different kind of energetic when he speaks clothing. It’s as if he can’t contain his tangents, not used to having someone take an interest in what _he_ loves, so he doesn’t stop to take a breath, just barrels through anything that comes to his mind in hopes that he can get everything in his brain, out. Zayn’s discovered a new method of relaxation. 

“I’ve got a proposal,” he presents as they stand outside the restaurant, stuffed. 

“Bought me a ring did you?” 

Zayn looks at the man with a frown, “I’ve got more romantic bones in my body than to ask you that way.” 

“So what is it then?” Liam asks with a contained smile at Zayn’s response. 

Moving to the side for an incoming family, Zayn says, “Instead of shopping together, we should go separately.” 

Liam raises a brow, “You sure about the romanticism?” 

“Hold on,” Zayn snips at not being given ample time to go into more detail. “We kinda know one another now, so we should buy each other an outfit.” 

“A full one?” 

“Yeah.” 

Looking nervous, Liam speaks his mind, “Can we set a budget? I’m getting paid, but definitely not as much as you.” 

There’s a part of Zayn that wants to just hand over his credit card to the boy and say ‘do your worst’, but he doesn’t want to come across as arrogant, nor does he want to belittle Liam for what he’s worth. “Can you work with two hundred quid?” 

“One hundred,” Liam bargains, squinting in the sun. 

“Top, trousers, shoes for one hundred?” Zayn’s eyes are wide in shock. “In Tokyo?” Liam nods. “What if I wanted to get you a backpack?” 

“No accessories then, just those three.” Checking his watch, Liam appears to do some quick math in his head. “An hour?” 

“An hour?” Zayn echoes, exasperated. “Liam, you’re making this impossible, it was supposed to be fun.” 

“I’ve gotta be back by noon,” Liam informs him as Zayn unlocks his phone to get the time. 

“Fine,” he finally agrees. “We’ll meet at the metro in an hour.” 

Each man gives their sizes to one another before taking off down the street. “Only one hundred!” Liam calls out as he crosses the road to the opposite sidewalk. 

Stopping where he was, Zayn considers calling Harry and asking for some good spots, but not only does he think the volunteer won’t know where to start with his sort of price range, but he also doesn’t want to risk Liam getting mad at him for cheating in any capacity. So instead, Zayn uses his phone to look up what was nearby, backtracking in the direction they came when he finds the perfect place to start. 

An hour later and _Zayn’s_ turned into the childish one, bugging Liam to no end with his pestering on letting him see what was inside the two bags sat in between his legs, the japanese symbols not any help in identifying what sort of stores he went to. 

“I told you to wait until we got to our rooms,” Liam argues, but when he turns from looking at the metro map that’s lighting up the next stop, to Zayn’s pleading face, he gives in. “Ok, but I’m not going first.” 

Thankful that the mid-morning time allowed them seats on the train, along with space to spread out, Zayn digs into his first bag sitting on the floor and pulls out a crisp white t-shirt with red and blue stripes. “Went for a more casual business vibe.” He hands over the folded shirt and pulls out a pair of black, straight legged professional trousers. “What do you ya think?” 

Liam checks the tag in the bottoms to make sure it’s the right size, but the smile on his face says that Zayn’s done a perfect job. “I think if you were patient, I could show you what it looks like on, but you’ll have to wait. What about the shoes?” 

Taking back the shirt and placing it neatly in its bag, trousers too, Zayn moves on to the third drawstring sack. “I know I told you I’d get you some free Nike’s when we get home, and I swear I didn’t get these for free if Camden asks, but...” Setting the box on his lap, Zayn opens the lid to reveal a custom pair of Air Force One’s, splatters of different shades of blue and red around the leather. A few extra spots of neon yellow mixed in for an added flare. 

“We said a hundred quid. You cheated,” Liam scolds, but yanks the box into his own lap anyway. 

“They were only fifty,” Zayn informs him, already expecting that the man would accuse him of such a thing with at least one of the three items. “I paid an extra ten to paint ‘em.” 

“You did this?” Liam looks up at Zayn in shock, eyes wide in amazement. 

The skater holds a small smile, “I know it’s not a mural, but it’ll last longer, yeah?” 

Zayn can see Liam swallow, his eyes only tearing way from Zayn’s when the doors are opening for the next stop and people pour in and out of the train. “Yours won’t even come close to this now.” 

More than the clothes themselves, Zayn’s interested to see what the physio picked. It’d say a lot about what Liam thinks of him, and also what he likes his men to wear, so when he sees what Liam produces from his own bags, he means it when he says, “I love it.” 

There’s a plain black tee, a pair of japanese style drop crotch trousers in maroon, and white trainers that looked similar in style to the Nike’s Zayn picked out, minus the paint. 

“Seriously, they’re sick,” Zayn reaffirms, handing back the shirt and making sure to look Liam in the eye to prove that he’s not just saying that. 

Noticing that they need to get off and change lines, Liam stands with his bags. “Harry says he and Louis and getting tattoos tomorrow after dinner. Wanna wear it then?” 

Zayn follows his lead out into the station, “Only if you wear yours too.” 

“As long as everything fits, of course,” Liam replies, looking back to make sure Zayn doesn’t get lost in the crowd. 

**Competition Day: +6**

Oh boy do they fit. 

From where he’s sat on the tattoo parlour’s couch, Zayn watches Liam stare at the different designs littering the wall. 

He’s tucked the shirt into the trousers, allowing for his torso to look just the right amount of thin that made Zayn stare a bit too long when the lad had appeared outside his door a few hours ago. Even throughout dinner, Zayn’s mind wandered to how Liam’s arms were on perfect display and the unbelievably cool swagger he carried in Zayn’s custom trainers. 

Exploring his wide shoulders from behind, Zayn’s eyes trail down to his legs. The cotton blend material shows off the results of running long distance every morning. Zayn doesn’t even think about Liam’s negative connection to the sport because there’s absolutely nothing negative about the way his figure looks when he bends down to look at a particularly interesting dragon sketch. 

“See something you like?” 

The british accent in his ear nearly makes Zayn jump out of his skin. “Fuck me.” When Louis comes round the side of the couch to take a seat next to him, Zayn glares at the male. “Go get needles stabbed in you.” 

Used to Zayn’s annoyance, Louis simply watches Liam. “Harry’s getting his drawn up.” 

“Are you sure you want him to ink you?” 

It seemed like the only one in their little group of five who was against the idea of tattoos was Niall, but he went to meet up with another skating friend after dinner, so there wasn’t anyone to be the voice of reason in situations like this. Having to step into that role with the lack of blank skin on his body was weird to Zayn, yet he wholeheartedly believed that just because they were all on board with permanent art, didn’t mean it was a good idea to have anyone other than a professional take on that job. Zayn wouldn’t even give Louis that power, close friend or not. To have a guy you knew for a week was crazy to Zayn. 

“Pretty sure, yeah,” Louis verifies, untroubled. “And I don’t think I need to tell you about it being for life.” 

Zayn looks to his right arm that Louis’ pointing to to prove his point. “Suppose it’s better than you getting matching tatts.” 

Louis’ “that’s for later” makes Zayn mildly concerned, but until that day comes, he doesn’t want to have it be another thing he needs to worry about. “I’m sure,” he replies curtly. 

“First time you’ve been in a shop without getting anything,” the man points out, which gets Zayn to thinking. 

Off to the side, he can see the parchment paper holding a sketch of the Olympic ring symbol that Louis planned on getting. Obviously Zayn knew that it was a common thing for athletes to get, and when his friend told him that he was, the first thing that ran through Zayn’s mind was that he wanted one too. Louis was right, he never _not_ got a tattoo if he was in a shop, but the prematurity of the drawing was too much for him. He had made it to the Olympics, and for some that was reason enough to get the rings, but the last thing Zayn wanted was a reminder of his failure if he didn’t perform well in the end. 

“Don’t want to jinx it,” he mumbles, hoping that Louis gets the hint to leave it be. Thankfully Liam was coming over to save the day, as usual. 

Louis scoots over so there’s room for the physio to sit, “Gonna get something Liam?” 

“No, I don’t get mine on a whim.” The male takes a seat between both friends, trousers stretching to accommodate the new position. “They all have pretty strong meanings to me.” 

“You hear that Zayn?” 

Zayn’s brought out of his stare when Louis speaks, the question earning him a punch to the leg that he had to reach over Liam to land. 

Unaware of the inside joke, Liam looks to Zayn confused. “Do you have some you regret?” 

Louis looks like he would love to be the one to answer that, but Zayn gets to it quicker, “I’ve had to cover up a couple.” 

Taking that as his cue to leave, Louis fakes a cough and slaps his chest right where he knows Zayn has a pair of eyes that are next on the list, standing up and walking over to where Harry and the artist were talking. 

“Is it rude if I try and guess which ones they are?” Liam asks, twisting his body so that he was facing the boy to his left. 

_It’s a little late to worry if you’ll come off as that after outwardly asking_ , Zayn thinks to himself. 

“As long as you’re willing to hear the explanations if you do,” he forewarns, not wanting to hear the complaints of him bringing up his past relationships since it was mandatory if Liam was to go hunting for the reminders. 

The male nods, eyes already scanning the artistry, “Sounds fair.” 

“You can only see one at the moment,” Zayn hints, smirking when Liam’s eyes meet his with raised brows at the suggestiveness. “You’ve seen the others already,” he clarifies to get the other to stop thinking about what he is, “just didn’t realize they were coverups.” 

Taking Zayn’s right arm in his hand, Liam points to the ‘Zap!’, “This one?” 

“How dare you,” Zayn yanks back his arm in a dramatic revolt. 

Liam laughs softly, waiting for Zayn to let him touch the skin once more. “It’s a large block of black, it makes sense!” 

“It used to be red,” Zayn confesses, staring at the yellow letters, “but I filled it in to match the colouring of the rest.” 

“So I wasn’t completely wrong,” Liam notes, going back to scrutinizing the different patches of ink. 

“You weren’t.” 

Pushing up the black sleeve some, Liam points to a spaceship covered in a galaxy scenery. “That?” 

Zayn doesn’t even need to look, he knew from the sleeve roll up that Liam had gotten it. “Yeah.” 

“It’s done its job,” Liam avows, still eyeballing the image. “It’s too dark for me to tell what it was.” 

“An ex.” 

“Like, their name?” 

Taking a deep breath, Zayn shakes his head, “No, a drawing of her.” 

Liam continues to stare at the skin, “You really loved her…” 

It’s the first time Zayn hasn’t received a laugh or crazy look, an ‘oh wow’ that he knows translates to ‘what an idiot’. 

“I did,” he answers distantly, now distracted by the girl’s memory. “Thought she was the one.” 

“What happened?” 

Liam’s eyes are brimming with wary curiosity and it’s his gentle approach that makes Zayn explain more than the usual ‘life’. “We were young and started to grow apart as we learned who we were. I thought we could make it work, but she hated how much I had to travel during competition season and I wasn’t about to give up skateboarding for her, no matter how much I loved her.” 

“She should’ve seen that that was the one thing you _didn’t_ have to learn about yourself.” 

Listening to Liam’s voice has Zayn closing his eyes briefly in appreciativeness at how the other was able to summarize notions so thoughtfully. “A lot of people aren’t as good with interpersonal things as you are,” he acclaims after the short moment he took to himself. 

Scanning the other arm from where he was sitting, Liam pushes the conversation forward, “So what else?” 

“Got her lips in the middle of my collarbone,” Zayn replies, looking down at his chest. “Changed it into a wolf’s head. I’d show you, but I don’t want to stretch the material of your new shirt.” 

When he turns to gaze at Liam, he can tell the man’s touched that Zayn would take his clothing choice so seriously. It’s no Armani suit, but Zayn really thinks Liam should give himself more credit for being able to pick out something the skater genuinely likes. 

“You’ve got a wolf on your leg too,” Liam brings up, both men directing their attention down to Zayn’s left leg, but the skin’s covered. 

“I think they look cool.” The skater doesn’t say anything about how attentive Liam is to his body when it’s exposed, keeps that detail to himself. “But this one’s red and a bit more unique than just a straight up portrait.” 

Leaning his shoulder into the leather couch, Liam relaxes. “Just those?” 

“This,” Zayn pulls up his shirt just enough to show off a black heart on his right hip, “used to be the Chinese symbol for ‘born lucky’. I had it for a few years before I realized I wasn’t born lucky at all. If I was, I wouldn’t have grown up in the dreary North of England.” 

The joke doesn’t illicit any humourous response from Liam, and Zayn’s worried that the other doesn’t understand he loves where he grew up, just not the weather, but then he hears his answer and the unmoved expression makes sense. “You were born with a talent, but you had to work hard at it to get where you are. You weren’t born an olympian.” 

It’s these sorts of impulses of enamoured emotion that make Zayn get the tattoos that need covering up in the first place. “Wanna watch Harry ruin one of the rings?” He offers up instead of directly commenting on Liam’s serious opinion. 

Once Liam nods in agreement, they get up and walk over to where the artist’s just started on Harry’s koi fish. It comes out looking insanely realistic, and Zayn’s jealous, but as soon as Louis’ halfway through the green ring, the last thing he feels is jealous when Harry takes over for a small portion. He can tell that Louis’ doing his best to keep his grimaces to a minimum at how random Harry’s pressure can be. In the end, there’s very minimal difference between the green and four other colours; you’d have to really stare to notice the slight wavering. 

Louis takes a picture with the artist for the shop to include in their book of famous people that have visited, and asks Zayn if he’s sure he doesn’t want anything. After the younger boy reassures him for the hundredth time that he’s all good, he and Liam say their goodbyes to the other two, having declined Harry’s offer to walk to his flat for drinks. Liam claims he’s got to be up early for BMX freestyle in the morning and Zayn piggybacks on the excuse, saying he doesn’t want to leave Liam alone even though he’s an adult, and more than capable of taking care of himself. In reality, Zayn was too afraid to be a third wheel past sunset in that house. 

“What’s the meaning behind 11:55?” Liam looks to where Zayn’s nodding at the clock tattoo on his forearm as they walk down the sidewalk towards the more populated area of Akihabara. “You said all of them have meaning.” 

“I got it during my Masters when I was staying up really late and waking up really early.” No matter if he’s about to tell a story, Liam still makes sure to fully take in his surroundings. “I’d basically take kips in the afternoons instead of sleep throughout the night. 11:55 is one of those times that can have two totally different feelings. The AM version you could be just waking up or having lunch with someone out at a cafe on the corner enjoying the sun. 11:55 at night, I could’ve been pissed out of my mind trying to play billiards with me mates, or I could’ve been in my flat cramming for an exam the next day. Not a lot of other times can work both ways. Not in my opinion at least.” 

It’s such a thought out response that all Zayn can do is say, “that’s sick,” because it’s very much the definition of the phrase in his mind. 

“Thanks,” Liam returns in a calm tone, clearly absorbed by the contentment that comes with discovering a new city. 

There’s another image that’s caught his attention before, but Zayn’s hesitant on whether or not to ask about it. Liam was the one who insinuated that he liked all of his tattoos, so Zayn shouldn’t feel as shy as he was, but he couldn’t help it. “What about the eye?” 

Liam smiles as he focuses back on the man next to him. “You’re not the only one with a black and white reminder of their ex.” 

Raising his eyebrows, Zayn didn’t think _that_ guess of his would’ve turned out to be accurate. “And you still think it’s meaningful?” 

“I do.” There’s no trace of shame in Liam’s tone or in his features. “I know myself well. If I felt strongly enough about someone or something to get it inked on me for life, then I shouldn't regret it. I’m not a rash person. If I thought about it that much and went through with it, that shows how much it meant to me at the time. And even though we’re not together anymore, a feeling that strong, about anything, shouldn’t be seen as a mistake. The opposite actually. To me it should be seen as something prideful, that I _can_ care that much. Suppose only people who know me would understand that, people on the street might just think I’m a stupid kid who doesn’t think through what they permanently put on their body.” He glances at Zayn briefly, “I think it’s the same with you. Our ability to feel is different. People don’t get that.” 

Again, Zayn’s left speechless. It’s not that he didn’t think Liam was capable of such deep thought, it has nothing to do with Liam as a person. It’s that Zayn hadn’t come across hardly anyone in his life who was as theoretical as who this guy was proving himself to be. Maybe he could blame that on being around the skate world for practically his whole life, and for the most part, the stereotypes were true - not the sharpest tools in the shed extreme sports athletes. Yet, Zayn liked to think of himself as an exception to the rule. He wasn’t loud or boisterous like Louis, wasn’t as sociable and outgoing as Niall. Zayn? Well, Zayn liked to practice on his own, listen to things other than punk rock, and definitely think about life in a more complex way than just what sort of tacos they could get on the boardwalk. 

“You’re right,” he replies mindfully. “About it all. I never thought of it that way, but…” Zayn grips the board that’s under his arm tighter, insisting that he bring it with them that evening out of a nervous habit, just to have it around in case he needed a familiar feeling under his feet. “I’m glad you have.” 

The two are about to cross the street when Liam stops in his tracks and stares at the building on the corner. “What’s this?” 

A man walks out of the sliding doors, letting a deafening sound of bells and clanking sounds from inside be heard. 

“Pachinko,” Zayn lets him know, the doors closing and sealing off the noise from the general public. “It’s like a slot machine with metal balls.” 

Liam looks over his shoulder at the skater, “You sure know a lot for talking shit about travel guides.” 

Zayn bites his lip to hold his smile back from growing, “Our first time here, Louis nearly ran himself into the ground in debt playing.” 

Unbothered by the foretoken, Liam walks into the parlour. Exhaling heavily at the boy’s knack towards letting his intrigue guide him, Zayn follows him in before the door has the chance to close. 

Like he told Liam, he’d been to one of these before, so the novelty wasn’t there for him anymore, but Zayn was sort of glad it wasn’t. This way, he was able to explore the place through Liam’s eyes, paying more mind to the male’s demeanor as he took in this new atmosphere rather than the rows and rows of men sat in front of the captivating machines. They could be enticing with the overly colourful graphics and mesmerizing balls that bounced around the pegs placed throughout the vertical board, yet to Zayn, the physio’s concentrated curiosity was much more entertaining. 

Three floors of probing later and Liam had reached his limit. “I think I’ve lost my hearing,” he says as they make their away across the street and towards more high rise buildings. 

“It all blurs together after twenty minutes,” Zayn discloses while hopping up onto the sidewalk, “trust me.” 

They hardly walk a few steps before Liam stops once more. “Ooo, an arcade.” 

Zayn looks up at the huge SEGA letters on the front of the building, a floor by floor guide of what types of games were inside, on the window. Like before, Liam wastes no time in entering, insisting they start at the top floor and work their way down. 

Little does Liam know, this portion of the city was Zayn’s favourite, and for this reason exactly. Each floor held arcade games that the rest of the world couldn’t come close to in originality. He was more than pleased that Liam was able to pick up on that, no complaints being voiced when Zayn stopped to watch a trading card game mixed with, what he could only compare to an electronic version of the West’s ‘Risk’. When they came across the Japanese dance game that played a lot like Dance Dance Revolution, except without any directional pads, only one huge touch platform to stand on, Liam’s eyes shone. It was something that the physio was familiar with to not need full instructions, but just different enough for him to want to try out. Thankfully there were regulars that staked their claim around the machines’ edges, otherwise Zayn didn’t know how he would’ve handled witnessing Liam make an utter fool of himself. 

Coming back down to the ground floor, Liam’s awe stays at an all time high. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many crane machines in my life.” 

There are several variants of the game, but the floor’s full of them. Rows of glass boxes and their white cases almost blind Zayn. “Yeah, it’s definitely very Japanese,” he remarks, seeing Liam gape at the machines, practically all of them needing loads more contributions to inch their prizes towards pay out. “Do you have any coins?” Zayn asks with determination. 

Liam feels the pockets of his trousers, “A few, but not a lot.” 

“Stay here,” Zayn instructs before going off to find a coin machine where he could exchange a few of his paper notes to currency that the game would take. On his way back to where he left the younger male, he sees a machine that’s calling their name. “Leeyum!” 

“He’s so close,” the man gasps once he joins Zayn in front of the Pokemon themed box. 

“He’s yours is what he is,” Zayn mutters, standing up against the machine and fishing out the coins he put in his pocket. 

The stuffed Eevee’s tilted on its side in between two parallel metal bars that are far apart on the right side of the game, but nearly touching each other on the complete opposite side. The taper in width is what makes the game tricky, but Zayn thinks that it won’t take an incredible amount of effort, maybe just money. 

“I’ll go get us more,” he states when that’s exactly the case and he’s run out of coins. “Can’t take anymore than three or four more nudges.” Liam nods in acknowledgement, but by the time Zayn makes his way back, he notices that the boy’s traded his spectators spot on the side for the place where Zayn had been stood in front of the two directional buttons. 

The skater comes up right behind the other, pressing his body up against Liam’s, the mirror on the back wall of the machine giving his identity away and not scaring Liam at the sudden intrusion. It’s an intimate position, a risky move for Zayn to take, but Liam merely relaxes into it as Zayn hooks his chin over Liam’s right shoulder after depositing two more coins for them to get started. If the man feels uncomfortable with Zayn’s warm breath near his ear, he doesn’t make it known. 

“Alright Eevee, come on,” Zayn thinks out loud, hand pushing down on Liam’s that was on top of the left and right arrow button before switching to the back and forward one. 

When the claw comes down, the stuffed animal falls so that only his bushy tail is hanging onto one of the rods. 

“You were so close!” Liam boasts, Zayn staring up into the mirror backsplash to witness the male’s overly excited expression at the building anticipation that was about to burst any try now. 

He stares at the two of them, how they fit together so naturally, how Liam’s figure blocks out nearly all of Zayn’s wiry one. It’s the unabashed way that the other invests himself in everything he does, including winning a child’s toy, even if Zayn’s the one doing all the work and strategic thinking, that makes Zayn happy. There’s no other way to put it. He just feels _happy_. 

“One more,” Liam urges, pushing the start button and squinting in tenacity. 

Zayn focuses back on the job at hand, leaning up on his tiptoes to check the angle before guiding Liam’s hand to get the crane to move just a bit more to the right and waiting for the time to run out so the claw could drop down. 

“Yes!” Liam rejoices once the toy tips in between the rods, Zayn immediately stepping back so the other could reach down and pull out the medium sized stuffed animal. 

He wants to say _I told you he was yours,_ reinforce that he doesn’t break promises, especially not ones that would result in the boy being so overjoyed at the outcome, but Zayn doesn’t. Instead he jokes, “I want to see you go through TSA with that thing.” 

Liam tackles the other in a bone crushing hug, “Thank you Zayn.” 

What it is about a simple Pokemon that has Liam _this_ excited, Zayn doesn’t know. His initial intention was to win the boy a souvenir, but he never expected for him to react this ecstatic over it. 

Zayn smiles in return as an attendant comes up to add a new animal for more people to waste their money on in hopes to take home a stuffed toy that costs a quarter of what it’d take to win it in the shop. 

“I can’t believe we got something,” Liam says in amazement as they walk out of the arcade. “The rest of the machines were ages away from any of their toys being close to getting caught. Ours was practically waiting for someone to come along. What are the odds?” 

The sun set hours ago, but the warmth of the day still lingers in the air, leaving Zayn to appreciate the cool down. “Out of all of the places in the world,” he thinks, “we were meant to be here.” 

Liam turns to him after taking a picture of the animal held out in front of the building sign, smiling at the sentiment. His lips turn down when he hears Zayn say “get on” in reference to the deck he’s just dropped onto the concrete. “What?” 

Zayn gestures to the board with emphasis, “Get on, I’ll push you.” 

“Are you sure?” Stepping forward, Liam only places one foot on the black gripped board. 

“About pushing you?” Zayn licks his lips in amusement. “You’re strong, but I’ve got the wheels on my side.” Still, Liam doesn’t budge from where he stands halfway on, halfway off. “If anyone’s going to keep you from falling, it’s going to be me,” Zayn tries to reassure him. 

The words are enough to convince Liam. “I’m rubbish at skateboarding,” he says while putting his other foot on the board. 

Zayn takes one of the man’s outstretched hands that are doing their best to act as a balancing tool. “You’ve tried?” 

“When I was younger and it looked cool, but I hated it.” Liam tightens his hold on Zayn’s hand when someone walks past them closely. “Board went into the street and nearly got crushed.” 

Chuckling, Zayn brings Liam’s hand down to his side. “Let me do all the work, you’ll be fine.” 

Right as he’s about to push the male from behind, Liam stops him. “Before we go, will you take my picture?” 

Rather than tease Liam for his millennial habits, Zayn takes Liam’s phone from him when he hands it over. He frames the picture with Liam on his board in the middle and Eevee tucked under his arm, the blaring street signs not making the night lighting a problem. Quickly he goes around to take a silhouette version of the same scene, knowing that Liam would appreciate the various angles. “Put him on your shoulder,” Zayn instructs, snapping a picture of the boy and his prize, left hand doing its best not to seem awkward at his side as Liam balances himself alone. 

“You look like a proper skateboarder,” Zayn compliments when he’s back holding Liam’s hand. 

After inspecting the photos, Liam looks up. “I want one of both of us.” Before Zayn can even retaliate, much less answer, Liam’s making a photo motion to someone nearby. 

Thankfully the stranger knew what they were doing and took the picture quickly, but Zayn held up one finger before they gave the phone back. “You’re makin’ me look short,” he chastises quietly. “Get off for a second.” Liam does as he’s told, carefully. Zayn kicks up his board effortlessly, and puts it in front of his body, satisfied that they were both of relatively the same height now that he wasn’t subjected to standing next to a boosted up Liam. Giving the stranger a thumbs up, Zayn smiles widely, not going for any poses to try and play himself off as overly cool. 

Liam takes back his phone appreciatively, “Thank you, arigato.” 

In a split second he’s typing away and at first Zayn thinks he’s labeling the pictures to put in his folders, but then he hears a ding come from his pocket. “Is that from you? 

“Yeah,” Liam replies nonchalantly, waiting for Zayn to put the board back down so he can get on again. 

Smiling to himself, Zayn drops the board and puts his hands around Liam’s waist. As they move, he pushes and pulls Liam’s body to distribute his weight if they need to swerve through the oncomers. It’s peaceful as the two chat about the stores they’re passing by, Zayn stopping the board from rolling forward whenever Liam finds a place particularly interesting and wants to go in, then starting up again when they finish and Liam waits patiently for the skateboard to be placed back down for him to mount. At one point it’s Zayn who wants to pause, stepping into a futuristic electronic shop and taking his time to search through all the robots. There’s a manga store that he’s surprised Liam wants to go into, though given the physio’s bag of surprises, he shouldn’t be all that shocked. 

Eventually they reach the main metro station for the Akihabara area, Liam using Zayn’s shoulders to steady himself one last time as he steps off the board. 

As they ride the train back to the Village, Zayn leans on the wood propped up in between his legs with his eyes closed in order to listen to Liam’s voice with no visual distractions, not even the handsome man in the striped shirt himself. 

With the sound of the metal tracks beneath their feet roaring, and the other quiet chit chatter of tourists not knowing the subway system was an unwritten no talk zone, all Zayn could hear was Liam’s voice go on about some ridiculous salamander he had as a pet when he was younger. 

And for the rest of the night, stress didn’t exist. 

**Competition Day: +5**

From the second Zayn wakes up that morning, he can tell it’s going to be a rough day. He knows better than to leave the windows uncovered before he sleeps, so at least there’s only the light spilling in from sides of the curtains, otherwise he’d be in an even worse mood. It hits him when he rolls over and checks what time it is - five days left. No longer is it five months or five weeks, it’s five _days_. 

Ever since the realization took hold, Zayn had been filled with existential dread. At breakfast he had let Niall lead the chat, meaning that it was basically all about his video equipment and latest shag. The boy wasn’t stupid, he was Zayn’s best mate for a reason, and therefore knew what was going on in the male’s head when it became abundantly clear from the half hearted nod instead of a good morning in the lift earlier, that the athlete planned on staying even more quiet than usual. 

Zayn knew he had it good like that. Both Niall and Louis could pick up on his moods and act accordingly, eliminating a lot of frustration on everyone’s parts. It wasn’t an ideal situation for Zayn to have the disorder in, but he didn’t try and look at it like that too much. He had to frame it as if it was just a roadblock he had to ollie over, not a stop to the ride all together. 

Yet as he and Niall skip the BMX Freestyle heats to head into the city for more promo video work, he can’t help but feel as though this time around, his nerves are eating away at him ten times faster than normal. The worst part? He thought he was on top of it so far. Life was cruel like that. One night he was on top of the world with a handsome man in his grip, crinkly eyed smile giving Zayn the power to take on his demons, and the next he was dipping out on a front row seat to an Olympic event because he can’t stand being anywhere close to adrenaline that’s not his own, doesn’t want to know what his blood pressure will do if he’s within a short walk to the stage that’s causing him all this. It’s tortuous and he knows there’s no one to blame, that some people just get this way, it’s not his fault, but fuck if he really wants to think so. Not having something to point the finger at and target his anger towards was enraging. 

But it wasn’t his fault. 

It’s the same thing his Mother’s telling him over Facetime when he takes a break from table grinds to try and busy his mind with something new, something positive that’s not tied to his impending doom. 

Hearing her voice through his headphones has him feeling more homesick than ever. More than when he had just moved to California for what was supposed to be a summer, but turned out to be two years. She and his sisters were Zayn’s recharge pack, there’s no doubt in his mind about that. His Father was his main source of motivation, but the women in his life were unlike any familial bond that he had come across. Louis and his sisters were close, especially after his Mother passed, but Louis didn’t suffer from what Zayn did. He didn’t need a grounding block to keep him from spiraling into oblivion or stop the burning in his eyes from not being able to rid the pit in his stomach that came from something that was supposed to be his life’s passion. No, Zayn needed his family like he needed skating, it was just ironic how the cycle between the two never went in one direction. 

Three hours into shooting and he breaks a board. 

Zayn can tell Niall’s unsure how to act when it happens. Should he pretend like it wasn’t a big deal, or do the opposite and seriously talk Zayn down from the ledge he’s on? He opts for the former, watching his friend toss the two pieces in self-degradation towards where their gear sits under a tree before picking up one of the other two boards strapped onto his backpack. Decks break, it happens, and it’s the reason Zayn’s brought so many with him, but it _shouldn’t_ be happening this soon to show time and they both know that. 

As the two continue to film for another two hours, Zayn wonders how loud his wireless headphones can go. 

Once he was spotted wearing Beats during his early competition days, the company approached him for a sponsorship. Zayn couldn’t say yes fast enough. Music was an integral part in his training regime, especially when his performance anxiety started to become a real problem. He’s sure Niall can hear the music each time he skates past him to reset the trick at hand. It’s another signal the videographer can use to tell there’s a storm going on inside the skater’s brain. Unlike his Irish friend who couldn’t focus on work with any of his senses distracted, Zayn could count the amount of times he’s skated without at least one headphone in, on his hands. 

Eventually they make it back to Zayn’s room, but only when the sun’s gone down and the city landscape lights up. It’s the only way Zayn knows it’s safe to go back to the territory of the elite, since the night sky means having the control to pull the plug on his draining psychology as soon as he feels sleep approach. 

Taking an epsom salt bath helps calm him until his head hits the pillow, but what he really hopes will do the trick is getting his secret weapon to come over and tape up his knee in whatever experimental fashion is tonight’s choice. 

“Footage look good?” Zayn wonders as he puts down his phone, not yet taking a seat since Liam will only take a few moments if he’s in the next room over like Zayn thinks he is. 

Niall looks up from the desk he’s set himself up at, surrounded by his laptop, a multitude of memory cards, and hard drives, his camera bag open haphazardly near his feet. “Looks sick, but I got so many takes, editing’s gonna take a lot longer than normal.” 

Coming from Niall, that means he’s going to be sat at that desk until Zayn kicks him out. Editing’s a one man job, but Niall’s not the type to want to be by himself much and they’re way past asking if it’s ok for one of them to stay in the other’s presence like this; the younger male’s the brother Zayn never had, he could sleep in his bed and Zayn wouldn’t be upset that he hadn’t asked first. 

Just like the skater predicted, Liam’s knocks come only a minute after Zayn’s text delivered. “You alright?” 

Zayn nods, opening the door wider for the physio to come in with his small tote bag of materials. “All good, you?” 

“It’s been a long day.” 

If Liam hadn’t flat out said it, Zayn wouldn’t have had to take much time to realize that something was up. He gave the skater a smile when the door opened, but on the walk to the bed, Zayn could see the tension in Liam’s shoulders, a far cry from the usual blithe energy he carried with him. 

“Heats go bad?” Zayn questions, now feeling more distressed for his new friend than he was for himself. 

“No they were ok.” Throwing his bag on Louis’ abandoned bed, Liam sits on the edge of the mattress. “Just got this project sent over from the firm back in London so I’ve been working on that since lunch.” 

Zayn’s eyebrows furrow in concern, “They’re still making you work while you’re here?” 

Liam kicks his black trainers off, not bothering to untie them, just holding down the back heel so his foot can slip out. “No, I was on the email and offered to do it.” He leans back on his hands, “Hey Niall.” 

The man barely looks up from his computer, “Hey.” 

Immediately Liam looks to Zayn, who’s now sitting cross legged on his own bed, for an explanation on why Niall’s so quiet. “Got a lot of footage for the promo today,” Zayn shares, trying to sneak a peek into the bag to see what he’s in store for. 

“I saw your [instagram video](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByG0o5UngYT/?hl=en).” 

Zayn’s eyes look up to meet Liam’s, “Yeah?” 

“What’d you think?” Pulling the earphone that was only half covering his ear off, Niall turns around in his chair to speak to the others properly. 

There’s no way of knowing if Niall’s asking about his cinematography skills or the trick, but what Zayn’s more interested in is if Liam just happened to be going down his feed to see the video or if he’s got notifications on for Zayn’s profile. For research, of course. 

Liam seems to fall into an easier headspace now that they’re done talking about his own job. “I have no idea what it was called.” _Cab to treflip_ , Zayn thinks. “But it looked wicked.” 

Moving to the top of the bed, Zayn puts his hands behind his head and sends Liam a grin in thanks. The position is Zayn’s way of saying he’s ready for Liam to give him his usual massage, no tape, since it’s late in the night and he can only assume it’d be uncomfortable to sleep with the wrap. A compression sleeve peeks out from Liam’s bag, so maybe he plans on using that afterwards instead. 

“Do you want to see some of the other shit we got today?” Niall asks, arms hanging over the backside of his chair. 

“No,” Liam declines evenly, “I want to be surprised when it comes out.” 

He plans on keeping up with him, even after all this ends? Zayn watches as Liam sits up and maneuvers onto his bed to start the massage. 

“So you guys shot that the whole day?” Liam guesses, pushing Zayn’s basketball shorts up to his upper thigh so he has space to work with. 

“Pretty much. Needed to stay away from here for the day.” Liam glances up when he notes the way Zayn uses the word ‘needed’ instead of ‘wanted’. “Could really go for a joint…” 

Instead of being put off by the mention of drugs, Liam sits back and forgets about the motions Zayn’s clearly looking forward to. “I could get you some anti-anxiety pills if you really need. They’d be considered prescribed meds if you’re worried about them coming up on a drug test or something.” 

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Zayn lets his hands fall on top of his stomach. “I don’t fuck with those, and I’m _definitely_ not risking putting anything new into my body this close to the event.” 

Liam’s not the first to bring up the idea of taking anti-anxiety pills to take the edge off, that was Zayn’s older sister. She was the first he had told about the abnormal nerves, and also the one who booked him an appointment to see a therapist. He hadn’t gone for long, but Zayn was happy that the man had helped by giving him an official diagnosis. What he wasn’t so keen on was the offer to refer him to someone who could prescribe a medication that he could take a week or so out from a competition. Anyone who knew Zayn could tell you he was stubborn, but more than that ,he didn’t want to become dependent on pills like those, nor could he afford any of the side effects interfering with his performance. So far, he hasn’t let the anxiety force him to choke under pressure. _Yet_... 

The seriousness in Zayn’s voice tells Liam there’s not much room for convincing him of the positives the pills would offer, so he doesn’t even try. “Ok, well if you change your mind, the offer still stands. Kristin and I’ve got contacts at the hospital, so we can get you some up until you go on.” 

“Did ya make any contacts with the women’s BMX team from this morning?” Niall buts in wryly, still watching the two from his place at the desk. 

“I thought you were busy?” Zayn says with a sharp tongue. 

The Irish lad shrugs, “Everyone needs to take a break sometimes.” 

Only a bit uncomfortable at the exchange, Liam shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Just with their other physios.” 

Niall cracks his knuckles and sighs at the news, “That’s too bad. Guess I’ll have to do my own leg work.” 

Once Liam turns to look back at Zayn with a smirk, the raven shrugs, untroubled. “He’s always been like this.” 

And it’s true, thinking back, Zayn can barely remember a time when Niall wasn’t doing his best to use his Irish accent to charm the women of the North, as well as internationally as soon as the duo started traveling for work. He’s seen his best friend get his heart broken on more than one occasion however, so Zayn’s not sure what version of Niall he likes better: out for a good time or settled down. Either way, there’s always some sort of pulling going on. 

“Just be glad your room’s on the other side of the house,” Niall quips as he moves on to crack his other hand. 

Zayn groans inwardly at what that leaves. “Louis’ isn’t.” 

Niall smiles wildly at the truth, Liam putting the pieces together slowly. “You all live together?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn answers, switching his line of vision back to the man sitting in front of him. “My first few wins had pretty big cash prizes, so after I bought my parents a new house, I bought myself one.” 

“It’s a mansion,” Niall adds, reaching for his phone behind him and starting to scroll through it. 

Zayn’s quick to dismiss that. “It’s not a mansion.” 

“What else do you call six bedrooms?” 

He scowls at Niall’s insistence, but Liam’s the one to speak. “Sounds a bit like a mansion.” 

“I wanted a place where all my friends could stay,” Zayn justifies, nudging his leg against Liam’s to get him to start already. “It’s not like I bought it all for just me.” 

“So there are 3 others?” 

Liam’s not moving and it makes Zayn backtrack on his boosted mood from the male’s presence. “Sorta. It’s just a place where skaters can crash if they need a place. Are up and coming and can’t make ends meet yet. They can come and stay rent free for a while. As long as they don’t cause trouble,” he shrugs. “I don’t care.” 

“Zayn’s the skating Mother Theresa.” Niall’s really outdone himself with that one. Zayn thinks it takes the cake over Louis’ typical ‘prodigy’ label. “Dude pays me _and_ I’ve never owed a cent of rent in my life.” 

When Zayn catches Liam’s eyes, he can see that the other’s impressed by what he’s hearing. “It’s outside of the city, so it’s not as expensive as you’re thinking,” Zayn makes clear, not wanting the man to think that he’s got a block of property in South Kensington. 

“And now we’ve got the warehouse next door.” The more Niall talks, the more Zayn can feel his cheeks heat up in embarrassment from being called out for his good deeds. “You’ll have to come ‘round when we get back.” 

Liam looks for more elaboration, “Warehouse?” 

Niall had done so well being mindful throughout the day, why’d he have to go and pull this? “I bought the place next door and tore it down,” Zayn explains further, barely able to look Liam in the eye. “Turned it into an indoor park.” 

There’s no stopping Niall’s enthusiasm, “It’s a skater’s paradise.” 

“Somewhere between all that you’re saving for retirement, right?” 

“Amazing,” Niall laughs, Liam’s mature question the thing that finally makes him turn around and put his earphones back on so he can return to work. 

“I’ve got a finance guy, don’t worry.” There’s a smile on Zayn’s face at how out of place Liam was talking to people who worked in one of the most laid back industries there were. 

“I’ve always wanted to buy me parents a house,” Liam confesses, finally placing his hands on Zayn’s skin and allowing them to work their magic. 

“It was probably the best day of my life.” 

He’ll never forget it either, the tears on everyone’s faces, including his Dad’s, when they got the keys. It was his way of giving back all the support that they had given him when he decided to chase an unconventional career, a dream of sorts. Since it panned out, the least he could do was put a stable roof over their heads, one they could all call their own, no one else's. 

“I just love to skate. Being able to make money doing it is a dream, and the fact that the amount is more than just getting by?” Zayn shrugs his right shoulder, “I mean, how can I not spread it around? I’d like to start a charity in the future.” 

Even as a kid, Zayn was never the type to want a lot of things. In fact, the only things he ever asked for were skateboard supplies when he started to grow into his body and mastering tricks became more important than Legos. Early on, the disposable income got him a lot of foundational things - the houses, a luxury car, a few nice watches, but nowadays he had more than he knew what to do with. His taste wasn’t changing anytime soon, so to him, it only made sense to give it away. 

“I make a lot for my age,” Liam contributes indifferently as his hands expertly work out any strain in Zayn’s knee. “Working at a private firm instead of public, but at the moment most of it goes to paying off my student loans and London’s crazy rent.” 

Zayn’s eyes are trained on the male’s fingers, “Do you live alone?” 

“Yeah, but it’s not a nice flat, trust me,” Liam chuckles at the image of his cramped apartment for one. “I’m dying to be able to buy my own place.” 

“One day,” Zayn promises earnestly. 

“Yeah, one day…” 

It’s clear both of them are exhausted, in Zayn’s case, both mentally _and_ physically. For that reason he reaches over to the table between his and Louis’ bed to grab the TV remote and turn on something with low volume. Hopefully Liam gets the message, that it’s more than ok to speak again, Zayn will still be able to hear him, but he’s also welcome to go about his work silently. He knows that the two of them don’t share the same bond as he and Niall, but Zayn thinks he’s starting to understand Liam’s silent signals, and maybe for once _he_ can be the one to take away the boy’s stress, instead of it being the other way around. 

**Competition Day: +4**

Zayn couldn’t sleep. It was as simple as that. 

Somehow, that’s translated to a 5AM gym session. 

Being up so early does have the perk of being alone, however. Regardless of whether or not Niall needed more gym footage, he would never get up this early to work, and Louis wasn’t due to show up for a new change of clothes for a few hours still. 

A downside to the isolation, was that Zayn’s stuck doing cardio since he doesn’t have anyone to spot weights for him. And there was no way he was going to ask a random goer to watch him struggle with beginner weights, even on the off chance that they _did_ know English. Cardio’s probably what he should be focusing on anyway, what with the benefits of endurance build up and the ability to work in some sort of intervals that could semi-replicate what his skate routine was like. 

So, he’s stuck to the elliptical. His first choice would’ve been the treadmill, but Liam nearly had his head when he told him about one of his workouts, launching into a lecture on why he needed to stay away from as much high impact training as possible for the sake of his knee. 

Instead of his usual sifting through playlists, Zayn’s mind busies itself with reading the subtitles of a Japanese morning show that’s on the mini-tv attached to the work out machine. There’s so much theatrics, that it’s just the humour he needs this early, but when he looks up for a second, he sees in the mirror that he’s being watched. Almost at once, Zayn’s shutting down the machine and wiping down the handles. 

Walking over to where Liam’s leaning up against the back wall, he takes out his earphones. “Can I help you?” 

The man’s sunkissed from the first rays of the day’s sun, red from running no doubt. He’s got a pair of thin, green athletic shorts on, along with a white tank that’s got leftover signs of just how hard Liam pushed himself. 

“I wasn’t aware you owned the gym,” the boy appeals, arms crossed over his chest comfortably. 

Zayn does is best not to stare at the veins that are standing out from the previous exertion and now bunch up of biceps. “Didn’t your parents teach you staring wasn’t polite?” He counters, hands on his hips. 

Without hesitation, Liam’s features light up as he laughs, “That’s rich, coming from you.” 

There’s no telling if Liam’s referring to a specific instance when he’s caught Zayn trying to be inconspicuous, or if he means in general, because the older man knows he doesn’t mean right now. His eyes have been locked with Liam’s brown ones since he walked over to avoid this sort of call out. 

“I came in from my run to find someone to start the cryo machine for me,” Liam continues, eyes testing Zayn’s to see if he’ll give in to what he’s thinking. 

At the mention of the therapy method, Zayn loses all interest to flirt. “You mean the ice dungeon?” 

“I mean the cryo machine.” Liam tilts his chin in the direction of the machines, “Are you done?” 

He wasn’t, but there was no way he was going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. “I am if it means I get to be responsible for putting you through what you put me through. I’m gonna practice later anyway.” 

Pushing himself off the wall, Liam starts to walk towards the corner of the room. “Why are you up so early?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Zayn replies as he falls into step with the other. “How far’d you run?” 

“About a 10K.” 

“Holy shit,” Zayn says in amazement, walking into the changing room corridor when Liam opens the door for him. “How long did that take you?” 

“Around forty five minutes.” 

Now Zayn’s baffled, and his incredulous tone shows it, “That’s it? How is that even possible?” 

Liam stays casual as they walk forward, “I used to average around thirty.” 

“For ten kilometers?” All that can go through Zayn’s mind is _you **were** The Flash_, but he keeps that to himself. “Probably take me around a day, and that’s on my board.” 

Taking out a card from a slip in his short’s band, Liam pages them into the private area. “That’s not true, but I appreciate you trying.” 

Zayn waits for Liam to walk through the threshold after him before he starts walking again, staring at the other’s legs when they do, “Are you sore?” 

“Not really.” Zayn thinks he’s _actually_ crazy. “More hungry than anything else,” Liam comments. 

At the mention of food, Zayn lets his brain run wild. “I could go for ten waffles, a bagel - loads of cream cheese.” He stops and waits for Liam to scan them into the therapy room, entering shortly thereafter. “Maybe a few croissants with orange marmalade on the side, and a banana.” He stands by the computer screen, grinning. “To be healthy.” 

“Right,” Liam smiles as he makes his way over to the empty chair near the computer. “To be healthy.” 

In one swoop, the man pulls his tank over his head from the back and throws it onto the chair. Zayn’s not quite sure what to do. He’s confident in himself enough not to blush, but he’s also glad that their conversation seemed to have tapered off because he wouldn’t have known how to coherently continue now that he’s faced with Liam’s six pack and defined pectorals. 

“You’re proving my staring point to be correct.” 

Zayn takes a defensive stance, standing up straighter when Liam speaks the truth without even looking up from untying his shoes to see if that’s the case. 

“You’re not using the…” He struggles to come up for the right word for the provided room partition that Liam had told him to use the last time they were in here. “Thing. I can’t be blamed.” 

With his shoes and shorts off, Liam starts to mess with the computer. “Alright, just push this button when I get in.” 

Somewhere in the distance Zayn hears the words, but he’s too focused on how Liam’s boxer briefs cling to his thighs and how he wishes they were white instead of black so he could make out more of a shape in the front pocket, to reply right away. 

After seeing Liam’s got the gloves on and has closed himself into the machine, Zayn takes a look at the screen in front of him before glancing back up at the boy. “Good?” 

Liam gives him a firm nod, “Yeah.” 

As soon as he presses the start button and the freezing air starts to fill the chamber, a sense of power comes over Zayn. “So.” His lips twist up wickedly. “Liam.” 

The named man squints at Zayn, knowing that with a tone like that, something was up the other’s sleeve. “What…” 

“What’s your favourite film?” 

Liam’s eyes go back to their normal size when he realizes what Zayn’s doing. “Any Batman, old or new.” 

“Colour?” 

“Red.” 

“Tea with milk or sugar?” 

“Milk.” 

“Favourite position?” 

Liam’s mouth falls open just slightly, not believing what he’s just heard. “What?” 

“Favourite position,” Zayn repeats with a blank face, trying not to seem as arrogant as he was on the inside at his plan unfolding perfectly. 

Even with the clarification that he’s understood correctly, Liam’s still in shock. “What happened to asking who my hero is or if I have a secret talent?” 

“A wise man once said ‘I’m the one asking the questions’.” Finally, Zayn let’s Liam see how much he’s enjoying this by letting his tongue run over one of his canines behind a smirk. “The same one also made me endure three minutes of hell on earth.” 

“At least he’s wise,” Liam plays along, dropping his surprised expression once he realizes he can’t win from where he’s at. 

Faking his way around the computer, Zayn tests the other’s willingness to joke around. “Where’s the button to make this thing get colder?” 

“With a girl, or guy?” Liam gives in, not nearly looking as against the idea as he initially seemed. 

Knowing that he’s got a favourite for each has Zayn needing to clasp his hands together behind his back to keep from showing how much the notion intrigued him more than his face already was. “Both.” 

“Them on top.” It’s an easy answer, just falls from Liam’s soft lips freely. “What now?” He asks annoyed when he sees Zayn’s eyebrows rise. 

The skater debates on what to say, if he wants to make him wonder, or if he should reward him based on the fact that he answered at all. For all Zayn knew, he could’ve refused to speak for the remainder of the time in retaliation. In the end, he knows that the only way he’s going to keep this going and get more out of Liam is to give a bit himself. “Me too,” he concedes truthfully. 

Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever seen a person more smug in his life. There’s a dark glint to Liam’s eyes that makes Zayn wonder if the man would take any further action if he weren’t stuck behind indestructible metal. 

“Alright,” Zayn starts back up, hoping to get back on track without letting his mind wander too much on the fantasies that’ve just been created. “Who’s your hero?” 

“My dad as well,” Liam answers with a much more tamed expression. 

“Got any kinks?” 

Not impressed, Liam cocks his head to the side, “Right after I answer with my Dad?” 

Zayn’s head tilts back some as he laughs loudly. “You’re right, my bad.” He makes a rewind motion with his right hand. “Let me try again. What’s your secret talent?” 

“I can do a kazoo noise with my mouth.” Without being prompted, Liam pushes his lips together and out, producing a high pitched buzzing sound. 

In any other setting, Zayn would’ve stopped and made Liam play him a song just for kicks, but he was running on borrowed time. “Got any kinks?” 

The man only comes across as slightly disappointed that there was no congratulations given to his unique talent, instead, resolute on making his words come true, “You’re getting in here after me.” 

“Yeah, alright,” Zayn dismisses quickly, glancing down at the screen to see how much time was left. 

“Blindfolds.” 

Maybe the cryo chamber wasn’t that bad after all. 

“On you or them?” 

“Either.” 

Zayn pockets that one away for a rainy day. It’s all he _can_ do with over half the time having already gone by. If it weren’t for the bloody countdown, he’d take his time picturing what Liam looked like writhing on a bed, completely void of his sense of sight and at someone else's disposal. Zayn didn’t even know where to begin if it were _he_ who was the one subjected to darkness and at Liam’s mercy. 

“Craziest place you’ve ever had sex?” 

“Laundromat.” 

“Like in the back?” Zayn looks for more clarity, not believing that someone could get away with something like that mid-day, much less _Liam_ , but then it hits him how that came out and it causes him to backtrack nervously. “Of the place, I mean.” 

Thankfully Liam’s already shy enough at having to explain himself, that he forgoes poking fun at Zayn’s choice of words. “No, no one was there. It was like 2AM. I was on a guys trip in New York City one summer. She…” He trails off, looking sheepish. “I don’t usually do things like that.” 

With answers like blindfolds and riding, Zayn’s not so sure he agrees. “Favourite feature on me?” 

Surprisingly, Liam softens as he answers this time. “You’ve got a freckle in your left eye, my right.” 

_Cute._ “Ok,” Zayn says sarcastically, “but realistically speaking...” 

“Are you saying that my smile isn’t _your_ real answer?” Liam retorts, but Zayn can tell that he doesn’t actually believe what he’s saying. He knows damn well Zayn’s answer was real, it was his fault that he didn’t push for an interesting second place when he had the chance. 

Zayn tilts his head as if to say ‘I’m in charge’ in order to get Liam to give him an answer. 

“The v lines in your abs.” 

Flashback to his first salt bath. Zayn probably could’ve guessed that Liam’s response would fall somewhere in his torso region from that instance alone. It’s not like he had seen much of Zayn’s body otherwise, except for his legs, getting up close and personal with his knees on a daily basis, but the sultry look that came across Liam’s face on that first shirtless encounter had given Zayn the spark to run with. 

“I still like your eyes though,” Liam adds thoughtfully, earning him a small “thank you” from Zayn in response to his kindness. 

It’s obvious they’re both attracted to each other, that much Zayn knows for sure, and with the consensual answers coming from Liam, he feels ok enough to push boundaries just a tad more. “Take any cold showers about me while you’re here?” 

“No.” Zayn’s eyes flit over to the wall to try and come up with another question since he was mistaken in his assumption, but they snap back when he hears Liam add, “They’re usually hot.” 

The three words render Zayn speechless for a few seconds. “Um…” This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. _He_ was supposed to be the one in charge, not Liam. _Liam_ was meant to be stumbling over his words with pink cheeks, not acting overly conceited at making Zayn stutter. “What about the top thing on your bucket list? I think that’s what you ended on with me.” 

Liam’s backing down with his pompous expression. “I’ve got two.” 

“You can’t have two bucket lists,” Zayn objects with a strong voice. “What the fuck.” 

“Yes, you can,” the male maintains. “One’s a realistic list and one’s unrealistic.” Zayn wonders what the point of a _realistic_ bucket list is. If it was realistic then you’d be able to cross things off easily instead of working towards the items. “On the top of my unrealistic list is to go to the moon, or any planet since that’s going to happen sooner rather than later.” 

“And the realistic one?” 

“It used to be win gold at the Olympics, but I guess that’s on the unrealistic list now.” A sinking feeling takes over Zayn’s chest. “Suppose to surf Pipeline in Hawaii takes its place.” 

The lists make sense to him now, but Zayn’s on to wanting to know more about this dream of his. “You surf?” 

“I do a lot of sport, remember?” Liam’s body shivers, but his facial features stay focused. “But London doesn’t have the best of waves, so I don’t get to do it as much as I’d like.” 

Zayn raises an eyebrow, “And you think you can take on the Pipeline?” It was one thing to just casually surf, but another to want to take on the gnarliest of wavelines in the world. If Liam thought he could just coast his way through it, he was mad. 

“Fuck no,” Liam says point blank. “That’s why it’s on the bucket list. It’s the scariest thing on earth, so if I can do that, it’d be huge.” 

Beeping shrills start to fill the air, the puffs of coldness coming to an end. The latch can be heard unlocking, Zayn pulling on the handle to get the door to swing open. 

“Alright, your turn.” Liam rubs his hands together in an attempt to gather heat, even though Zayn knows from experience that being out of the chamber feels worlds better without any sort of added effort. “I’ve got plenty of new questions.” 

Zayn shrugs and holds a chilled tone, “Nah, I’m good.” 

“What?” Liam’s just slipped on his shorts when he spins around and stares at Zayn with disbelief. “You said you would.” 

Pulling out his headphones from his pocket, Zayn starts to walk towards the door. “I lied. See ya.” 

As he pulls open the door to the room he hears Liam’s “are you serious!?” but it’s the last thing he makes out, since he shoves the buds into his ears and pushes play on his latest playlist. 

— 

“I’m so jealous of you.” 

Zayn stares longingly at the plate of katsu curry that Louis’ just set down on the cafeteria table, the smell of the gravy making his mouth water. 

“You can have a bite,” Louis offers as he sits down at their table for two. 

“No, I’ll just end up wanting more.” Glancing down at his steamed vegetables, rice, and heaps of chicken, Zayn can taste his boredom. Nutrition’s important, especially this close to a competition, but he’s never been a massive health freak, always opting for the middle of the road choice - maybe a fruit juice next to a jerk chicken sandwich. This whole super clean eating thing wasn’t his scene, but Camden insisted and Zayn wasn’t about to play the what if game about foods if he didn’t place where he wanted. 

“Four days.” Louis’ reminder was not setting up this conversation for a good start in Zayn’s book. “How are you holding up?” 

“By a thread.” 

The older skater had been coming around more often now that Zayn’s event was getting closer. Like Niall, he’s in tune with knowing Zayn and his need for familiarity when things started to get down to the wire, but Louis’ been busy with press after his win and spending time with Harry to be as present as he usually would be at times like this. Zayn’s not mad at the fact, he gets it, and he’s never felt as though his friend’s are responsible to look after him and his crippling disorder, but he can’t lie and say he wasn’t pleased to see Louis turn up that morning after his gym session to take them to watch the BMX freestyle competition. 

The male gives him a pointed look as he takes his chopsticks out of the wrapper. “Niall said you broke a board the other day.” 

“Landed with too much force,” Zayn describes, hoping that he wouldn’t have to defend himself a great deal. “I didn’t lay into it, just sort of came down all at once.” He knows Louis would have understood what he meant with the first portion alone, but Zayn still feels the need to go into more detail so he’s aware it wasn’t on purpose from anger. 

“Just be careful, alright?” Louis warns as he takes his first bite of rice. “Take some time to chill.” 

Zayn can feel the lecture coming on. “I have.” 

“You don’t look like you have.” Pointing to his own under eye area with the sticks, Louis waits for a reply before he eats anything on his plate. 

“It’s just a recent thing,” Zayn responds lowly, knowing that his mate was referring to the bags under his eyes; a result of waking up at 4AM that morning. “I’ve been going out with Liam, he’s got this Tokyo bucket list thing I’ve been helping him out with.” 

“What the fuck’s that?” Louis asks with a fresh mouthful of sodium overloaded curry. 

Inspecting the bland chicken staring back at him, Zayn braces himself for another dull bite. “Just a bunch of tourist stuff he wants to do before he leaves.” 

“Still haven’t slept together?” For starting off the conversation so poorly, Louis really knew how to make things worse. “I thought for sure you would’ve after the tattoo shop with the way you were staring at him all night.” 

“I told you that’s not what we’re about,” Zayn reiterates for, what he hopes is the last time. 

Louis rolls his eyes, “I know you well enough to know you’ve at least thought about it.” 

“Then I don’t need to answer.” The comment earns a proud grin from Louis. “He’s cool though, like, understands me and the anxiety thing without having to talk about it.” Zayn takes a deep breath at the topic, “Not even my family can do that, they always ask a million questions.” 

“I do it,” the other interjects strongly. 

“Yeah, but you’ve learned to do it,” Zayn points out, hoping that Louis doesn’t take what he’s saying to heart. “He’s known me for two weeks.” 

“Well alright then, no need to brag for him.” 

Taking the time to chew his food, Zayn sends Louis a pithy stare at the latter trying to be difficult. “I’m just saying, it’s nice.” 

“Can you imagine what our nine year old selves would think about us sitting here right now?” Louis says between bites. “Me with a medal, you about to get one, and two handsome lads on our arms.” 

There’s a lot about those two sentences that Zayn wants to pull Louis apart for. He’s already overly emotional in general, ready to cave in to himself at any given moment, he doesn’t need to risk adding sentimental tears into the mix from how proud a younger version of himself would be for getting this far. And he knows that that sort of self-recognition is what he should be content with, like how Louis is- _was_ -, even before he won his medal, but Zayn isn’t ever able to tell his brain that. 

The second sentence has him asking: “Does Harry know you talk about him like a trophy husband?” 

“No,” Louis brushes off easily, “but there’s a part of me that thinks he’d probably like it.” He pauses to take a long drink of his carbonated water before speaking again. “Life won’t get any better than it is right now.” 

“Please don’t say that,” Zayn growls from behind his own cup of still water. 

“I know you don’t like to hear it, but it’s true.” Ignoring Zayn’s death glare, Louis continues, “We’re not getting any younger, and our job requires us to stay relatively youthful.” 

“Tony Hawk still does 720’s at fifty.” He’s still not happy with Louis’ persistence in making Zayn listen to the reality that he tries so desperately to avoid, but if Zayn’s got to look at some silver lining, there’s the faith that one of skateboarding’s legends provides. 

“Yeah, but does he compete?” Zayn’s glare heightens. “I’m not doing this to scare you, I’m just saying, take advantage of what’s in front of you. Easier said than done, I know,” Louis says as a disclaimer, knowing full well what this must sound like to someone who suffers from what his best friend does. “But that’s why I’m always with Harry or doin’ other stuff that doesn’t have to do with skating. I was even before I competed.” He pauses to take another bite of the chicken doused in rich curry sauce. “We get on well because we’re not usually that type - straight edge follow the rules, so don’t let that get the best of you here. Milk Liam for whatever he does for you.” Zayn exhales deeply as his patience is tested further at Louis suggesting he take advantage of the physio. “I’m not telling you to use him and throw him away after, I’m just saying, if he helps in any way, then don’t hesitate to latch on to that for the time being.” 

With a more developed answer from Louis, Zayn knows he’s right, and he’s kind of been doing that already, but he worries about coming off too clingy or that Liam will misinterpret his sincerity and think he _is_ using him. However, Zayn can feel that this round isn’t going to be like any other bought of anxiety he’s had in the past. What usually seeps in the night before a competition has done so days in advance, so maybe he _should_ let himself lean on Liam as much as humanly possible. 

“You sure you don’t want a bite?” Louis pushes his plate towards the other a few centimeters as a gesture to take what he wanted. “It’ll make you feel better…” 

Zayn can’t stand the phrase Louis’ used, like he’s a child with a cold, but it’s sort of true and so he reaches over with his chopsticks and scoops up a healthy bite, hating the wonderful taste even more than he hates the coddling. 

**Competition Day: +3**

“Hello?” 

Listening to Liam’s sleep drunk voice, Zayn can tell that he’s woken the male. “I need you.” 

“Thought you were gonna get him to wake up, not give him a hard on,” Louis mocks from his place in front of the Subaru WRX STI, headlights shining onto his body. 

“Zayn?” Liam whispers, probably to avoid waking Kristin up. “Is everything ok?” 

With it being a quarter past one in the morning, Zayn knows he’s got to think up something worthwhile to get the lad out of bed this late. “Scraped up my arm,” he lies smoothly. “Can you bring me your first aid kit?” If Liam was in the right of mind, he’d point out that Zayn’s always got small bandages and gauze in his bag that he carries on him when he skates, but Zayn thinks the sleepy daze will take care of that memory for him. 

Shuffling around can be heard on the other side of the line. “Where are you?” 

“Downstairs. You’ll see us out front.” 

Instead of questioning who else was with him, Liam obliges, “Ok, I’ll be down in five.” 

“Change out of your pajamas before you do,” Zayn adds before the call gets cut short. 

“Why?” 

“Louis’ll humiliate you if you don’t.” It’s not a total lie, but Zayn’s gotta say what he needs to make his plan fall into action quickly, and it seems like it’s worked. 

“Alright, fine. Bye.” 

Looking over at where Louis’ standing, Zayn sees him waiting to give a snarky comment. “You know you would,” he says after ending the call, Louis’ shrug saying that Zayn’s not wrong. 

Five minutes pass, and when Liam comes down, Zayn notices that he’s wearing the same thing that he had on earlier in the day: a pair of blue Levi’s and a fitted red t-shirt. 

The closer that he gets, the more Liam’s starting to piece together that he hasn’t been told the whole story. Zayn’s leaning against the silver car’s back door, Niall’s pulling a simple kickflip on the sidewalk, and the other four people nearby share a cold drink from the nearest vending machine - doesn’t seem like there’s immediate danger at all. 

“What’s going on?” Liam asks gruffly as soon as he’s only a few meters in front of Zayn. 

“We’re kidnapping you,” the skater answers bluntly, an evil smile on his lips. “Let’s go.” 

Once the rest of the boys see Liam, they start to finish up what they’re talking about and pile into the car. 

Liam’s eyes trail down to Zayn’s exposed skin out of instinct and worry. “Your arm’s fine?” 

“My arm’s never looked better.” Shaking out both of his arms over exaggeratedly, Zayn’s smile grows. 

“You’re the boy who cried wolf, I swear,” Liam sneers, shaking his head in disapproval. 

Louis slaps the top of the car, “Bro, come on!” 

“Toss your bag in the back,” Zayn says, nodding to where the boot’s open and Niall’s throwing his board in with the rest of the gear. 

When Liam sees all the boards and backpacks in the compartment, he cranes his neck to look at where Zayn’s still standing near the door, unsure of what this all means. Only taking a few seconds to think, he tosses his first aid bag in and shuts the boot by the spoiler of the car. 

“Wait.” He looks into the car, the last to get in since Zayn’s already joined the rest. ‘There’s not enough seats.” 

The man’s right. Harry’s in the front passenger seat so his long legs have some space to stretch, a Japanese male around their age is acting as driver, and Louis, Niall, and Zayn are all crammed in the back, the latter doing his best to make room for Liam. 

“We can squeeze,” Zayn coaxes, patting the space next to him. 

“Seat belts?” Louis groans at how sensible Liam’s trying to be. “We’re gonna get caught.” 

The car’s clearly ready to go, having been warmed up since Zayn got off the phone; they’re all just waiting on Liam. “Can barely see my hand through the window.” Pulling the door back, Zayn presses his hand up against the glass for a few seconds to demonstrate the perks of Japan’s nonexistent backseat tint laws. “You’ll be fine,” he reassures, pushing open the door once more for Liam to climb in. 

All eyes are on Liam, the man staring at each and every one of them in uncertainty. 

“Take a chance, yeah?” Zayn’s voice is gentle against the roar of the engine and irritated silence from the others. 

Liam waits for a few more seconds before he loses the battle against the alarms going off in his mind and joins them. The moment the car door slam’s shut, the car skids into the streets with a jerk that makes the entire back seat smash into each other even more than they already were. 

“Where are we going?” Liam asks as he tries to get comfortable in the small space that the sedan affords him, which is a lot more than most would with a backseat of four. Zayn thinks it’s because his hips are only about half the size they should be, and the other two are skinnier than average. Plus, there’s no way Liam would go for sitting on their laps if he was that worried about safety. 

“Liam, meet Kaito, an old friend and Asia’s best skater,” Zayn introduces, the driver nodding to Liam through the mirror as he changes the radio to a Japanese hip-hop station. “Since he’s from Tokyo, he’s got the hookup.” 

Even in the close quarters, Liam still turns to look at Zayn. “To what?” 

“You’ll see,” the olympian teases, taking the opportunity to lean more of his weight into Liam than Niall. 

“Harry,” Louis speaks up, “hand Zayn the AUX.” 

Frowning, Harry turns around to look at the boy. “Why?” 

“Because you’re two seconds away from switching this to Fleetwood Mac and I love you, but I’m not about to let you ruin the vibes with that hippy crap.” 

It takes Harry a moment before he hands the cord back. Zayn knows why, but no one’s saying anything, Harry’s just staring at Louis from his seat, so he’s not sure if the others have caught on to the slip. Louis’ like this though, Zayn knows better than anyone. He tries to make big things seem not so big by casually mentioning them to avoid the spectacle of it all. It’s never been Zayn’s style, but Harry’s going to have to accept that that’s a part of Louis that doesn’t seem like it’ll ever change. 

Going back to minding his own business, Zayn opens up his music and starts to shuffle through the numerous playlists. 

“You’ve got a lot of playlists,” Liam indicates, his closeness the only reason Zayn doesn’t call him out for snooping. 

“Yeah, music’s how I get out of my head. Anxiety can’t grab a hold of me if I can’t hear myself think.” It’s an insight that Zayn doesn’t tell just anyone, but he figures that Liam’s complexity deserves to know this part of him. “I have loads because over time I get used to the same songs and it stops working.” Finding what he wants, Zayn plugs in the cord and pushes play on the ‘August 2020 Hype’ playlist. 

“Hype?” 

A smirk comes over Zayn’s lips at Liam’s curiosity, and he wonders just how much he should tell him. “Yeah, need to set the tone. We’re taking the long way to the park.” 

At the mention of a skatepark, Liam seems to look slightly relieved that not only does he know their destination, but that it’s a safe one. 

_[I can feel it, I can feel it, I can feel it in the air around me](https://youtu.be/oOBhYFG6Euw)_

_[And I can see it, I can see it, I can see it cause it all surrounds me](https://youtu.be/oOBhYFG6Euw)_

_[You’ve got my love down, love down baby, got my love down](https://youtu.be/oOBhYFG6Euw)_

_[All I need is your love, all I need is your love, all I need is your…](https://youtu.be/oOBhYFG6Euw)_

Elbowing Niall, Louis wiggles his eyebrows. “Liam?” He leans forward to be able to see past the others, the music’s volume making it so that Louis needs to speak louder than normal. “I’ve got something to add to your Tokyo bucket list!” 

Liam looks to Zayn briefly before replying, “What?” 

There’s a small pause and Zayn doesn’t even need to look to know that Louis’ about to wreak havoc. “Outrun the police.” 

Right on cue, the car starts to pick up speed, as does the beat of the song, hitting the highway that will lead them out of Tokyo’s dense streets. 

“What?” Liam turns back to Zayn in utter panic, eyes wide and looking for a way out of this. “Zayn is he serious?” 

The male sways his head back and forth, “We’ve known to have a run in once or twice doing this.” If Niall wasn’t the one on his left, Zayn knows Louis would’ve given him a fist bump for upping the vagueness. 

Liam looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. Or aneurysm, whichever gives first. “What!?” 

“It’s alright, Kaito has NOS.” Pointing to the red switch on the dashboard panel doesn’t seem to calm Liam down any, he’s still visibly petrified, as what he’s been roped into, starts to become more apparent. Harry turns up the music to a deafening level. “You closed your door good, yeah?” Liam’s now a mixture of fear and confusion at what the door has to do with anything, not answering Zayn, just searching his eyes for some sort of explanation as to what’s going to happen. “Don’t worry!” Zayn shouts, “If you get scared, you can hold me.” As the music hangs in the air, the skater winks charmingly at the paralzyed boy next to him. 

_You’ve got my love down_

The beat drops and Liam grips the back of Kaito’s seat as the driver opens up the throttle to test the car’s limits. 

Zayn can’t see the speedometer from where he’s sitting, but that doesn’t matter to him. He trusts Kaito speeding through the motorways, weaving in and out of lanes even though it’s not necessary, there’s hardly anyone on the road at this hour. Kaito knows the city like a local should, knows where to go to avoid police, the right times to really step on the gas during a particular straight away, and how to gear shift as smooth as butter. Throughout it all, no one dares to turn down the music, regardless of whether or not they’re all going to have ringing in their ears once they exit the car. 

Every few minutes, Zayn looks over at Liam to make sure he’s doing ok in the whirlwind, almost always met with an expression that reads he’s half terrified, and half loving life. Without fail, each time he catches eyes with Zayn, the man’s eyes crinkle into a squint from his pushed up cheeks and each time Zayn’s got to hold himself back from letting his emotions take control, so he doesn’t do something stupid. 

_[Hago lo que quieras, perdóname mi nena](https://youtu.be/UIHkIy0HYwU)_

_[Oh, oh, oh, oh](https://youtu.be/UIHkIy0HYwU)_

_[Yo no te lo creo, ¿qué no tienes pena?](https://youtu.be/UIHkIy0HYwU)_

_[Estoy cantando](https://youtu.be/UIHkIy0HYwU)_

Occasionally Zayn closes his eyes in order to let the loudness and craziness of the car consume him. The songs heightening the thrill that came from Kaito’s illegal maneuvers and top speeds. English, Spanish, Portugese, Hindi, EDM, rap, they all contributed to his high. 

_[Now can I get an encore, do you want more](https://youtu.be/nxrcV5edwaM)_

_[Cookin raw with the Brooklyn boy](https://youtu.be/nxrcV5edwaM)_

_[So for one last time I need y'all to roar](https://youtu.be/nxrcV5edwaM)_

Niall and Louis both shout out the anthem, heads tilted back, “Now what the hell are you waitin’ for!” 

Every time they do something like this Zayn gets the urge to learn how to master the stick shift. When he’s in the moment, he thinks that the thrill can be another escape, a way for him to match the speeds that his thoughts and heartbeat have sitting in a chair. It was a lot harder to not get caught when they were in LA because of the traffic and constant patrol cars everywhere, but living in London’s outer city limits he could get away with a lot more. Then he thinks of his Mother, his sisters, the family he has up North, and if anything went wrong he’d never hear the end of it. In the end, the sound of his Audi’s luxurious exhaust always wins just fine. 

_[I ain't scared to be alone or with a lot of people](https://youtu.be/cZSJRmd5gmg)_

_[Great experience provoke I get a lot from either](https://youtu.be/cZSJRmd5gmg)_

_[Getting closer to my goal](https://youtu.be/cZSJRmd5gmg)_

_[Rest in peace Stan Lee](https://youtu.be/cZSJRmd5gmg)_

_[I'm Peter Parker, Lamborghini by the parking meter, start the beeper](https://youtu.be/cZSJRmd5gmg)_

On the outside looking in, it might seem counterintuitive to have a sensory overload be what Zayn uses as an appeal to the knots in his stomach and buzzing in his head, but it works, and he couldn’t be happier. That, mixed with the innocence of watching Liam get a taste for corruption in the form of sharp turns and accelerations that push you back in your seat, makes Zayn more relaxed then he’s been since the plane’s wheels touched down in the city. 

_['Cause I need something to lift me up when I'm down](https://youtu.be/9lq69X9EKqY)_

_[I get lost in my head for so long, I can't get out](https://youtu.be/9lq69X9EKqY)_

_[When I'm feeling like I'm crawling in my skin and sinking down](https://youtu.be/9lq69X9EKqY)_

_[I need something to lift me up](https://youtu.be/9lq69X9EKqY)_

Off the expansive asphalt of the highways, Liam takes Zayn up on his offer to dig his hand into the other’s arm when Kaito takes to drifting several corners that make up the narrower suburban streets. 

_I wanna elevate_

Luckily for Liam, his initial terror of having to face the cops never had to become anything other than that. Zayn didn’t think it would, but it sure was fun to watch him squirm. All they were up against were the older drivers on the road that gave them dirty looks, probably for their speed and vibrations coming from the heavy bass, especially on the regular streets where they met another car of skaters that got word of the meetup and were headed back into the city like they were. 

_[Hot pink, Valentine red](https://youtu.be/pSnkPxDjQSY)_

_[Black balloons, over my head](https://youtu.be/pSnkPxDjQSY)_

_[Let it float, let it float, let it float, let it float](https://youtu.be/pSnkPxDjQSY)_

_[Let it float, let it float by me](https://youtu.be/pSnkPxDjQSY)_

Zayn reaches in front of Liam to roll down the window now that they were at lower speeds being back in the inner city and the aerodynamics of the car’s shape didn’t matter as much as when they were high tailing it at triple digits down the interstate. With no police, that meant Kaito didn’t need to use the NOS, though Zayn’s sure that Liam might’ve lost his mind if he did. 

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk,” the physio says as the engine’s cut and everyone’s hopping out of the car. “That was like a roller coaster.” 

Zayn shuts the door behind him once he’s exited after Liam. “It’s funny you say that, because I hate roller coasters.” 

As he walks to the boot to get his things, he hears Liam mumble, “You’re strange.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Zayn chuckles, pulling out his backpack with one of the two boards he brought with him, strapped against it. Leaving one, he takes the other under his arm. 

While the others grab what they need, Liam looks up at the shop they’re parked in front of. “So you guys need new gear?” 

“You saw how many boards I have in my room,” Zayn replies, handing Liam his first aid kit. “I’m good on equipment.” 

“So then why are we here?” 

“Just wait.” 

By now Liam has every right to be upset at being kept in the dark about _another_ part of the night, and Zayn can see that in the way he eyes the skater closely, but just like the last time, he goes against his better judgement and follows the group into the shop and up the lift. 

He doesn’t, but Zayn wouldn’t put it past Liam if he had gasped when the lift doors opened up to reveal a lit up rooftop skatepark. Platforms, a half pipe, rails, anything you could ever want as a skater was there. It was his first reaction when he, Louis, and Niall, had been introduced to the place years ago. 

“Welcome to Tokyo’s best kept secret,” Zayn presents to the man in red next to him. 

Around fifteen skaters are scattered around the roof, with a handful of spectators sitting off to the side, but nearly all of them shout for Louis and Zayn when it’s clear who they are after walking out of the lift. The group’s uncharacteristically loud for being Japanese, but skaters are a different breed to their general population, no matter where you were in the world. 

Before they get bombarded by greetings, Zayn fills in Liam a bit further, “It’s only open during the day, but the owner’s super chill. Anytime we’re in town for a contest or whatever, we meet up with Kaito and come up here with some locals.” 

Fist bumps are passed around to the crowd that’s amassed around the Brits, the small portion of extroversion hidden inside Zayn making a rare appearance. It’s apparent that Liam seems a bit out of place, especially when the riders of the car that followed them into the city step out of the lift and add to the numbers. Not knowing the language _and_ the people can be intimidating, but Zayn can tell that he’s doing his best to be sociable with the help of Harry. 

Making sure he’s greeted everyone, Zayn walks over to one of the benches to drop his bag and extra board off, sensing that Liam’s following him. “Wanna ride?” He asks, taking a seat to unstrap the deck he wants and set up his bluetooth headphones. “I’ve got plenty.” 

Liam lets out a loud breath, joining him on the metal bench, “I think my feet need to stay on the ground after what just happened.” Peering over, he catches Zayn swiping through his playlists again. “New vibe?” 

Zayn glances up for a split second before going back to what he was doing. “I’ve got three main vibes: instrumental lofi, for when I skate early in the morning or after a nap and I want something easy to listen to, nothing too in your face.” He stops at a list with the next title, “Casual, which is just normal music, whatever gets me in the groove, and then Hype.” Setting his phone down, Zayn double checks his trainers are tied tightly enough. “Which I think you’ve heard enough of to get the gist. Usually save those for before and during competitions.” 

Liam’s brow furrows, “You can listen while you compete?” 

“Yeah. Don’t think I’d survive without it honestly.” Out of the corner of his eye Zayn can see Liam nod in response, but then it dawns on him that being a spectator might not be as exciting after their joy ride, since the Tokyo municipal carries strict noise limits and eliminates the park’s ability to have a speaker system. “Do you want to listen?” Zayn offers as he sits up straight again. 

Louis tosses his bag carelessly near where Liam’s sat, the boy nearly jumping at the sudden appearance before asking, “How?” 

“Wireless.” Zayn shows him the buds in his hands. “You take one, I take one.” 

“And it’ll reach that far?” No matter his unsure tone, Liam still takes one of the black pieces of plastic. 

“You’d be surprised. Might cut out for me every once and awhile, but it should be pretty ok.” Handing over his phone, Zayn gives one last comment, “Just stick to the songs on the Casual lists and you’re free to DJ.” 

Temperature still warm, Zayn takes off his snapback and puts it on Liam, not checking to see how the male takes it before he leads his board in front of him and effortlessly gets on front foot first. 

From atop one of the short ramps, a small breeze can be felt. It tickles the bottom hem of Zayn’s green t-shirt. Standing on the wood, he thinks of how far from home he really is, because even in the summer, the british night air is always cold, no matter the heat during the day. The lit up Tokyo skyline’s another reminder that he’s made something of himself, gotten out of the industrial city that keeps the spiders in its net. 

Barreling down the ramp towards a stairset, knees bent and feet ready to twist the wood underneath them, Zayn can’t help but feel free. _This_ is the skateboarding he loves, air flowing through his hair without the protection of a hat (of which Liam’s very much kept in place the last time Zayn checked), no pressure, and a sense a pride when he lands the [nollie kickflip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6EYnVzIwN8&list=PLUI5xN1_-KQyjaPfLS_XNyLUXa3pdbQJl&index=8&t=0s) perfectly. He was born to skate, but not for the fame and fortune, for the feeling of weightlessness and euphoria that came with mastering a trick he didn’t even know where to start the learning process of five years ago. 

Waking up that morning he felt just as miserable as he had the day before, and the day before that. He wasn’t scared, but he certainly was continually thrown off guard by how much more debilitating this round of anxiety was proving to be in comparison to all the others in his past. Louis had joined in his street session in the city for the day, but even having his mates around him as he practiced barely made a difference to the constant dryness in his throat. 

When he takes a break to grab a drink of water, Zayn compliments Liam on his song choices, even though they’re really his, pointing out that the man’s really bouncing around the ‘casual’ playlists quite a bit. He doesn’t mean it in a joking manner either. It’s not just interesting to see what Liam likes, it’s also making Zayn fall more in love with the night, hearing songs he hasn’t thought to play in a long time. 

Two hours later and Zayn’s exhausted. It’s precisely what he needed, right down to the foreign company, but he also really wanted to get to bed. 

Piling back into the car wasn’t as difficult this time around with Harry choosing to ride with another car that was going more in the direction of his house. Louis takes his front seat, leaving the backseat to house only three like it was designed to. He’s not shocked that Louis doesn’t go with Harry, he knows that it’s nearly show time, and that means being there for his friend was more important than any relationship, but Zayn’s still massively appreciative of the gesture. 

As they ride back to the village within the speed limit and via the fastest route, Zayn switches his playlist to an instrumental, easing him down from the exciting adventure. Turning to his left, he sees Niall stare out the window, head propped up in his hand that’s leaning against the pane. Glancing to his right he smiles as he’s met with a nodding off Liam, hat still secured tightly. Zayn closes his own eyes and tilts his head back, grateful that nights like these still had the power to reinforce his passion for the sport and refuel the energy he needs to fight the man inside him. 

**Competition Day: +2**

Some days Zayn wishes Niall _would’ve_ kicked Louis’ ass back when they were kids. It’d leave him out a second best friend, but finding another didn’t seem hard. At least that way he wouldn’t be having to uncomfortably walk out of the onsen’s men’s changing room with only a towel around his waist. 

What was meant to be a trip to the sauna at a tattoo friendly spa in the outskirts of the city to relax, turned into a humiliating set up revolved around a nude public bath. It was the last time Zayn ever trusted Louis with helping him try and destress. He knows that the Japanese pride themselves on being courteous, but Zayn wonders what the onlookers will think if he drowns the boy in the hot spring. 

Reality hit when Harry went over how it was necessary to wash off before you used the public baths, Zayn realizing that they weren’t going to be sitting in a hot room after all, but keeping the dread of being naked in public to himself so as to not come off as ungrateful that Harry had managed to get them a spot. The guy was an amazing networker, Zayn had to give it to him, but he was starting to think that maybe he should have stayed back with Niall, who got offered some easy cash to film for another skateboarder. 

Quickly, Zayn walks towards the door to the bath, hoping that his speed will allow it so that he can drop his towel and get in the water without any of his friends watching, especially not Liam. No doubt Harry and Louis were messing around in the changing room somewhere, so once he saw that Liam wasn’t anywhere near him in the showers, Zayn made a break for the hallway as soon as possible. 

“Are you in a rush?” 

Closing his eyes in defeat, Zayn turns around to face the one person he was avoiding. So much for making a clean getaway. “Don’t want to get cold.” He motions to the few water droplets that are still clinging to his skin from the brief shower. “From the open air.” 

“You’re right.” He is? It wasn’t a lie, but Zayn’s surprised that the other’s going along with it that easily. “I dried off, but the hot water sounds nice.” 

With Liam now by his side, Zayn starts to walk once more. “Did you know we were coming here? 

“Yeah, Harry said it was a must to try.” So everyone was in the loop _but_ him? “I saw it in the guide, but was too nervous to ask for someone else to come with me since I didn’t know anyone all that well to start.” 

As he walks through the door Liam’s holding open, Zayn can’t imagine what his response would’ve been if the male asked him to go to a naked public bath within a couple days of knowing him. There’s no way it would’ve been a positive one if this is what he feels like going _with_ people he knew. 

“Did you not?” 

Zayn laughs ironically, “No. Louis told me we were going to the spa.” 

“This...technically counts as a spa,” Liam reasons, though the skater can tell that he’s just trying to be nice with a neutral justification. 

Thankfully no more than six or seven people are currently occupying the large pool-like bath. Regardless, the further Zayn walks in, the more his nerves heighten. He expected them the second he was ambushed in the changing rooms with the news that not only would they _not_ be going to the sauna, but all the private rooms were already booked. So much for relaxing after a hard day’s practice with Camden at the official park - a place he couldn’t avoid any longer if he wanted to properly train. 

“You don’t go into the sauna naked,” Zayn argues while surveying his surroundings. 

“Some people do.” 

“Well I don’t,” he replies firmly, turning to look at Liam so he can at least appreciate being this close to the man’s bare torso if he was going to be subjected to this embarrassment. “And I definitely don’t with my mates.” 

Without warning, Liam goes to set down his locker key and grab a small towel on the edge of the bath, Zayn following after him. He copies the other’s movements when he gets close to the water’s edge, but then it’s just him and his towel and nothing left. Oddly enough, the strangers he can deal with, the fact that he won’t ever see them again making it easier to get used to the idea they’ll see him naked, if only above water for a few seconds, but Liam? He doesn’t know how to react being exposed outside of the bedroom for the first time. 

“You don’t have to get in if you don’t want to,” Liam says when he sees Zayn’s hesitation. 

He’s already gone this far, might as well. “It’ll be good for my knee, you know?” 

To Liam it’s obvious that Zayn’s trying to make light of the situation, so he simply goes along with it to make the skater more comfortable, “Yeah, it will.” 

Out of nowhere, Harry and Louis come up behind them. Instead of any sort of greeting, Harry instantly strips himself of his towel and gets into the bath. Louis raises his eyebrows at Zayn in surprise at how open the tall man was with himself, taking inspiration in the action and doing the same. It’s a bit of a domino effect because right after Louis, Liam takes off his own towel and uses his right hand to cover himself up as he steps down the stairs and into the water. 

Before any of them have the option to stare back at him, Zayn takes the window of opportunity and drops his own towel, one hand covering his groin like Liam had done and the other gripping the rail as he eases himself into the steaming hot water. 

Immediately Zayn compares the experience to being in a jacuzzi, minus the jets and swim trunks. He had to admit that it felt freeing when he was fully submerged up to his shoulders and therefore no longer felt the need to hold himself any longer. The scorching hot water was just that, steam lifting off the top of it endlessly, so it wasn’t an instant relaxation, but Zayn knew that once he adjusted after a minute, the heat would feel appealing rather than scalding. 

In a corner of their own, all four were able to talk amongst themselves without having to be on the lookout for any eavesdroppers or worry about interrupting others by speaking too loudly. 

“So Zayn,” Harry starts, using his small towel as a bandana of sorts. “Good practice?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” the man answers, not really wanting to get into the specifics of it all at the moment. He just wants to enjoy himself as much as he can. However much that is now that he’s not sitting in a steam room like he was promised. 

“Who do you think your biggest competition is?” 

Louis swipes Harry’s upper arm, “I told you not to bring up the event.” 

Maybe it wasn’t too late to hop out and go use that nap room that he read about at the front desk. There might not be anything other than lounge chairs in there, but at least Zayn wouldn’t have to listen to bickering. 

“I was trying to show interest in him,” Harry defends himself, sending Zayn an apologetic expression. 

It’s not enough for Louis. “You can do that in other ways.” 

“It’s ok,” Zayn finally chimes in, even though it’s really not, and the look that Liam gives him says that he’s not alone in thinking that, but he’d rather just smooth things over then let the old married couple squawk at each other any longer than they needed to. “Probably any of the Brazilians or Americans, same as Louis.” 

Seizing the opportunity for a subject change, Louis says, “You know we almost moved to Brazil.” 

“Really?” Harry’s gone from feeling guilty for bringing up something taboo, to immensely curious at hearing the story. 

“Yeah.” Louis pushes his hair back and away from his eyes, “Zayn was really keen on South America when we were younger.” 

“Still am,” the man adds, not wanting Louis to speak for him entirely. 

Now it’s Liam’s turn to be overly curious. “Why?” 

“Besides the skaters?” Zayn means it as a rhetorical question, not waiting for any sort of answer. “It’s just a lot more of a laid back, simplistic life. I like that sort of thing.” 

Ever since he was a kid, the number one adjective that could sum Zayn up was chilled. It’s why the performance anxiety took him by such a surprise in his teen years. Money from skating was good, at least for someone as talented as Zayn, but even if it wasn’t, even if he was scraping to get by and eating cheese on crackers out of a van, he’d be content. Life was about taking every day as it came. So long as his family was taken care of, and he was healthy, what more did he need? 

“L.A. was laid back,” Louis counters from his position much closer to Harry than where he was stood a minute ago, the new placement much too stealthy for Zayn’s liking. 

“L.A. was _hectically_ laid back,” he corrects with emphasis. 

To some extent, Louis _was_ right. For the first few months after moving, Zayn liked the city. It was fresh, had amazing weather, unbelievably good looking people, and insane food, but the attractiveness of being in a new country wore off after the first year. Zayn started to see it for what it was: a place of image. And while the parties and skate culture were fun, it wasn’t him. 

“When’d you move?” 

Harry’s question was a hard one to hear, so Zayn’s glad that Louis answers for them. “We left England after our GCSE’s. Moved back to London after about two years.” 

Leaving Bradford the city, wasn’t the rough part. It was having to say goodbye to his family at sixteen that killed Zayn. Everyone knew he wasn’t destined for a normal life, wouldn’t be going off to uni or getting a desk job after school, but it also didn’t mean that he was going to be forced to fly the nest so soon, either. The longer he stayed however, the more skating opportunities that would slip through the cracks, and even though he learned what he knew in Northern England, Zayn wasn’t dumb to think that staying there would better his professional career. He was just glad he had two people to make the move with him, otherwise there’s no way he would’ve lasted the full two years. 

“I got too homesick.” It’s a confession that, if Zayn wasn’t drained from the day, wouldn’t have ever made it passed his lips. 

“Where would you move now?” Harry asks, this time the question posed directly to Zayn. 

Unlike when he was younger, the male doesn’t need any time to think. “I love London too much, but if I had to choose, probably down to São Paulo.” 

Liam jumps in, eager to know more about this fascination with Brazil. “Do you speak portugese?” 

“I wish,” Zayn sighs in longing. For the amount of time he’s spent around Brazilians in the sport, he’s picked up a few phrases and words, but he’s never taken the time to sit down and study the language. Maybe one day. 

“My super power of choice would be to speak languages.” It’s such a unique answer, though Zayn really shouldn’t expect anything less from Liam at this point. He supposes the man’s already got the whole super strength thing on lock. 

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger, “Don’t get him started Liam.” 

Liam should really take Louis’ advice, because Zayn could go on for days. Clearly the physio has studied Zayn’s legs enough to have seen the superhero themed tattoos, but to hear that Liam was just as into superheroes as he was, beyond enjoying batman films at the cinema, made Zayn smile for the first time since arriving at the onsen. 

“Where would you move?” 

The first thing that comes to Zayn’s mind when he hears Harry asks Louis the question, is that it’s a test. A test to see if this, whatever it was they were doing, could be possible past the Closing Ceremony. It’s not that Zayn _can’t_ see Louis living in Japan, it’s just that, well, he can’t see Louis living in Japan. There’s not enough risk and chaotic energy for him to feel alive in Tokyo. It’s got everything there is to offer, but it’s still very much grounded in the serene traditions of Japanese culture, and while that makes for a great buzz every year, Zayn doesn’t think his best mate would be able to handle it for the long run. 

“Anywhere really,” Louis answers with a small shrug. “As long as I can skate.” 

Left open for interpretation, how very _Louis_. 

“Think I’d like to go to France for a long amount of time.” 

Sophisticated fun, how very _Harry_. Zayn hasn’t known him that long, but he can see the city fitting him perfectly. 

Only one left. 

“What about you?” 

Liam turns to his left to look at Zayn, thinking about the question for a moment before smiling, “Hawaii. To practice my surfing.” 

“Ooo, that’s a good one,” Harry compliments with a dreamy look in his eye as he tries to envision what that life might entail. “I’d like to live in Hawaii. Imagine waking up to a tropical beach every morning...” 

In the early days, Zayn had. Or maybe not so tropical, but the palm trees of Venice Beach had to count for something. He, Niall, and Louis, had somehow managed to befriend a local surfer who rented them out the upstairs to his townhouse less than a block from the promenade. Other than the fact that they couldn’t have guests over, it was the best set up a skater could ever ask for. Half a block to the park, of which was on one of the most famous beaches in the world? Made moving away from home at such a young age, a lot easier. 

“The water’s super blue there too, isn’t it?” Louis’ voice has that hint of repartee that always gets him in trouble. “Maybe Zayn’ll actually get in the water.” 

Liam’s brow furrows, “You don’t like the water?” 

“Hate it,” Zayn spits, still glaring at Louis for rubbing in the fear. 

Looking down, Liam moves his hands against the water smoothly, “We’re sat in it.” 

Zayn switches his vision back to Liam, letting up on the harsh guise. “Yeah, but like, this is different. I can see the bottom and there’s no entropy to the water, no possibility of gettin’ bit by anything. I’d like to go though,” he bargains, not completely against the idea. “Sit on the sand and tan in between sessions. Not sure about livin’ there, but it’d be fun for a while.” 

Across from him Zayn can see that Louis wants to take advantage of the shark insinuation, but Liam speaks first. “So you really think you’ll just live in London for the rest of your life?” 

“Yeah, probably.” Zayn’s not sure if he’s meant to feel bad for the answer, but he doesn’t think Liam intended for the question to be shameful. “Athletes retire young, so I’m taking advantage of the places I get to go when I compete, since there are barely ever events in London.” 

Louis clicks his tongue, face twisted up in discontent. “Would you stop talking about retiring? We’ve still got another ten years in us, at least.” 

_If nothing happens._

In a matter of seconds, Zayn can feel his anxiety start to creep in, brain jumping at the chance while it can. Louis doesn’t get a response because Zayn’s eyes won’t stay in one place, shifting down to the water and then over to the group nearest to them before landing back on Liam next to him. He’s not sure what he looks like on the outside, but apparently not as bad as he feels since neither Louis, nor Harry take his behaviour for anything other than his dominant introversion taking over. 

“Is that the other cover up you mentioned?” Zayn looks down from where he’s staring at Liam’s exposed collarbone, to see the male press his hand against his chest in reference to where Zayn had a set of eyes tattoo. 

When brown meets brown, Zayn can tell that Liam wasn’t as blind to Zayn’s erratic heartbeat as the other two, that this was his way of moving the conversation somewhere more productive. “Yeah,” Zayn replies weakly. 

Craning his neck more to get a better look straight on, Liam nods, “I like the placement, it fits well.” 

“Too bad Zayn never learns his lesson and stops getting his exes tattooed on him like a bell-end,” Louis jeers in a menacing tone. 

Zayn’s too out of it to even glare at Louis, both for the comment, and for using such an insult in the non-clothed situation they were all in. Looking back at Liam, he notices that the other’s staring at him with unspoken words that revolve around their previous discussion on past tattoos. _Don’t listen to him, he doesn’t understand._

And Liam’s silent words are right, he doesn’t. But Zayn’s also never been able to match the perfect words to his feelings towards the tattoos on his skin either, up until Liam came along. So he can’t blame Louis 100%. Only 98. 

Leaning back against the edge of the pool, Zayn closes his eyes. He hasn’t sunken into himself completely, but he can feel that point approaching. With his small towel draping down from the top of his head into his eyes, Zayn thinks of dipping out to the nap room once more, but knows it’s a bad idea. It might give him momentary satisfaction, however it would definitely get in the way with him getting a good night’s sleep later. 

Occasionally he opens eyes to make sure he doesn’t _actually_ fall asleep, all the while staying in tune with the conversations being had by the other three. They include him, but Zayn sticks with his stance and gives minimal answers, preferring to take thorough notes on what Liam says about himself in between trying not to get lost in his thoughts. On top of that, he realizes how funny Harry can actually be when he lands his puns correctly. 

Without a watch to tell the time, Zayn’s not sure how long they’ve been in the bath. All he knows is that it’s got to be close to dinner when the volunteer gets up to lead the group out of the spring. They all agreed earlier that they’d make sure to leave time to eat at the inhouse restaurant before their private car came back to pick them up. 

Since it worked so well the first time, Zayn waits to be the last to get out, wrapping his discarded towel around him as soon as can. Having to wash back off immediately after coming in from the hot spring makes showering alone again impossible. It’s not as if Zayn’s never been in a locker room setting before, but he can’t think of a single time when he had to take a shower in a _communal_ area, so he can’t be held entirely responsible for letting his eyes wander to where Liam was sitting next to him. 

Immediately Zayn snaps his eyes back to the tile in front of him when he sees what he’d been forced to imagine for the past couple weeks. The image is burned into his mind, and while he tries to keep his thoughts NC-17 while they eat, Zayn’s just glad he’s given his mind something to think about instead of the looming competition. Between knowing what’s sat next to him beneath the table, and watching the man’s hand successfully pick up most of his sushi pieces with chopsticks, Zayn thinks Liam’s become quite the distraction. 

**Competition Day: +1**

Slumping against the back of his room’s door, Zayn exhales a deep breath. 

From the second he woke up, until about fifteen minutes ago, he had pretty much only been at the event course. It was life’s cruel way of making up for all the time he had avoided it like the plague since arriving. 

Before today, he didn’t have to deal with too much exposure from outlets and the press, the brunt of it all coming from when he was chosen for Great Britain’s team almost a year and a half ago. There were more official interviews when he technically qualified, but with his unrivaled championship record, no one expected for him to _not_ advance to The Games, so even those were relatively standard in content and quantity. Today that all changed. By the end of the day, he’d sat down with at least fifteen sources. The number could’ve been higher, but he stopped counting after the fifth. Everyone, from every corner of the world, wanted to talk to the crowd favourite. 

It started when he showed up to watch the women’s street competition in the morning. He couldn’t even make it to the athlete’s section without being asked for a few quick quotes on how he was feeling about tomorrow, the skater switching the conversation to his support for female participation in the sport instead. 

Including skateboarding in the Olympics for the first time that year was huge for the sport and its image - women specifically. Skating was always seen from the male perspective, but the women were just as sick, and Zayn hoped that by having the world watch a competition they’re not used to seeing, the negative stigma behind skaters would lower, while simultaneously proving that women can shred just has hard as men. 

After the medal ceremony, the place was a mess. Yet even in the midst of it all, there were still interviewers who wanted to schedule a time to talk to the male skater later in the afternoon. Lucky for Zayn, he had Camden to take care of all the requests. And he’s more than happy that he did, because he’s sure the frenzied asks would’ve caused him to lose it. 

When the coast is clear and the park’s died down from the craziness of the morning, Zayn and Camden return to practice for hours on end. Somehow, they manage to squeeze in the scheduled interviews during breaks. Zayn’s not sure how they turn out, considering how focused he is on the park in front of him, but he doesn’t care, they all give him a smile at the end, so he couldn’t have done too poorly. 

To Zayn’s dismay, interviewers aren’t the only thing he’s got to tend to instead of practice. Since it’s the eve of the competition, he and Camden are forced to sit through a formal meeting with the program director and judges. The only thing that gets him through it is seeing that the rest of the skaters he’s more than familiar with from the pro circuit, are just as bored as he is. They all know the rules and codes, just let us all practice. 

When he’s granted just that, Zayn goes hard. Every time he finishes a run simulation, he focuses on his breathing and makes sure to drink loads of water. He’s plugged in the whole time, but when he’s not kicking his board into the air, he’s switching the songs, not able to get through a full one out of a manic impulse to need to keep things moving, always moving. Thank god he wasn’t a nail biter, otherwise they’d surely all be gone by now. 

Throughout it all, Niall and Louis stay nearby, skating around the outskirts of the course so as to stay out of the competing athlete’s way, but still within reach if Zayn needs something only his two best friends can provide. Any time Zayn looks over, he sees Harry and Liam chatting away, doing the same as the other two: making their presence known, but just far enough away that Zayn isn’t bombarded. It’s _his_ medal to win, but the skater’s grateful he has such an understanding support group, even if Louis does push the boundaries of his humour from time to time. 

Eventually Camden pulls him off the course, says that he doesn’t think Zayn could be any more prepared, and to get some well deserved rest. And Zayn agrees - or his soul does. His brain’s fighting it, and the disconnect makes him want to bang his board against the rail as they’re waiting for their car to take them back to the Village. 

Rather than eating dinner with the crew, Zayn takes his food to go and eats in an abandoned room where he can finally video chat with his family. His Mum had denied his call earlier in the day, which alarmed Zayn, since that never happens, she usually answers and tells him she’s got to call him back if she’s busy, but he goes back to blaming his screwed up mindset for not chasing her about the oddity. All he cares about is being able to hear the woman’s voice talk about anything _other_ than skateboarding. It helps that she has plenty of embarrassing stories to tell about his sisters, and even one about his Dad from around the time that they met. He never knew the older man had a soft spot for romantic comedies. 

Zayn laughs more times than he can count since coming to Japan, but when they have to say goodbye due to the time zones and his Mum needing to go pick up his sister, Zayn feels empty. She promises all their alarms are set to wake up at the unfavourable UK hour to watch him, but it’s not enough. 

And now, examining his silent room from where he’s leaned up against the door, Zayn doesn’t know what to do so that his mind doesn’t start to become a dangerous place. 

Setting his board down against the wall with the rest, he turns into the bathroom to start the water for an epsom salt bath. While he soaks in the tub, he checks his messages, seeing near a hundred from friends all over the globe; that’s what he gets for not looking at his phone for anything other than music practically the whole day. He doesn’t respond to all of them, but he definitely reads every last one, getting a sense of gratefulness for all the well wishes and also for the review having taken the full fifteen minutes. 

Wiping himself off, Zayn texts Liam to come over after letting Louis know to go out with Harry and his sisters, who are still in town to watch Zayn, he won’t be mad; it’s better if he’s alone. The knock on the door a few minutes later proves that that’s a lie, but he thinks Louis would understand, given he was the one who encouraged Zayn to take Liam for the benefits he offered in the first place. 

“Finish your work project?” Zayn asks once Liam’s through the door and they’re both making their way to their usual spot on the bed. 

“Yeah, earlier.” Placing his small tote bag on Louis’ bed, Liam pulls out his neon green medical wrap. “Massage and tape?” 

Knowing what he needed wasn’t hard, Zayn was simple like that, but the boy still knew he made the right decision by inviting Liam over because of the immediate understanding. “Yeah.” 

The two get settled into their usual stance of Zayn laying back against the headboard and Liam cross legged at his side. Usually, Liam’s hands are enough to put Zayn in a trance. They were one with Zayn’s skin by now, knowing where to push and pull with just the right amount of pressure and precision. Zayn wasn’t even sure Liam focused anymore or if he was so accustomed to what Zayn’s body demanded that he only had to go through the motions. Nevertheless, Zayn needed more today. He desperately required another element of distraction on top of Liam’s rough palms. So, he puts on the TV for the first time since they’re in this position, and reads the subtitles on the screen until Liam’s finished his tantalizing work. 

“Ok, you look good.” Running his left hand over the tape once more, Liam nods at his work. “No over inflammation or swelling. You should wake up feeling normal.” 

Staring down at his knee, Zayn observes the bright colour against his olive skin. “I know you just wrapped me up, but can we do the cryo?” 

Liam’s face hardens in concern at the request, “Does your knee hurt?” 

“No,” the skater shakes his head fervently so the other doesn’t worry. “I just want to be extra distracted.” 

Now that he’s said it out loud, Zayn’s not sure how Liam will feel about using the machine in an abusive way. He’s just admitted to the fact that it’s not needed for its intended purpose, nor had he worked out in the last few hours like the physio had told him it was to be used after, but that doesn’t seem to matter. 

“Ok,” Liam gets up from his spot and puts the tape away in his bag, glancing back at Zayn, “Sure.” 

On the way down to the appropriate room, Zayn asks Liam to go into detail about the project that he’d basically assigned himself to do. It’s his way of ridding the guilt that had come over him for not talking to the man while they were back in the room. That, and he didn’t want to talk about himself. 

As he stands in the cryo chamber waiting for Liam to push the start button, Zayn’s beginning to wonder if this was as good of an idea in practice as it sounded in his head, but it’s too late, the pressured air is streaming into the confines around him before he has the chance to back out. 

“How are you feeling?” 

It’s the opposite of what Zayn had expected Liam to ask. He thought for sure the man would take advantage and get revenge for what Zayn did to him the last time they were in this room. “I know you’re more creative than that,” he provokes, hoping that gets them back to the rapid fire he was used to anytime he was in there. 

“I’m not interested in knowing what pet you want or when you lost your virginity.” Zayn cocks an eyebrow, causing Liam to chuckle. “Not right now at least.” 

Just like Liam, Zayn doesn’t need things to be spelled out all the time. “You can’t take it away.” 

If he’s surprised Zayn doesn’t put up a fight on confronting what’s going on, Liam doesn’t show it. “I know, only you have the ability to do that, but until you _do_ , I’m trying to help as best I can to make the process easier for you.” A small smile finds its way onto his lips. “I’m a professional, you think I don’t know your knee doesn’t require that many massages per week?” Fault it on being half frozen, but Zayn feels only slightly embarrassed at Liam figuring out his tactics. “I was hired to help with your ailments, and yeah, you have a physical one, but you have a mental one too, and I wouldn’t be doing my job if I wasn’t helping you with both.” 

“They train you in psychology too?” 

Coming from Zayn, it’s an honest question. Not only had he dropped out before taking is A-Levels, but even if he hadn’t, he certainly wouldn’t know anything about Liam’s two degrees and their curriculum. The physio’s professor’s had to though. It seemed too good to be true that he was such a mindful individual without any sort of preemptive lessons. 

“No,” Liam pulls the computer chair closer and takes a seat, tired from his day’s work. “I did my own research when you told me about your diagnosis.” 

Zayn had to get this crystal clear. “So it’s _not_ a part of your job description,” he states unassuredly. 

“Technically speaking?” The man crosses one leg over the other, hands in his lap leisurely. “No, not at all, but that’s not the type of sports doctor I want to be.” 

“Now I know how you got a job at a private firm on Harley Street under the age of forty,” Zayn chuckles, though it comes out sounding a lot more like teeth clattering against each other from the coldness. 

“It’s more than just work for me. I care about my patients.” Staring down at his legs, Liam bites the inside of his cheek. “Mostly because I know what it was like to be in a lot of their shoes. I’d want someone to treat me the way I treat them.” 

Even though he wasn’t the one to bring it up, Zayn still feels off when he hears Liam talk of his shattered dreams. He’s not sure it’ll ever get easier to listen to, just because now that he knows the man, he knows how much he deserves it. His work ethic, character, organization, it’s all proof of how well Liam would’ve taken on the role as an Olympian, but Zayn can’t dwell on that, just like Liam doesn’t. 

“It’s weird to hear you call me your patient,” he teases, hoping to change the tone of the conversation. 

Liam’s lips turn up slightly, “It’s the reason we’re not in bed, remember?” 

Zayn’s full laugh makes Liam look up at him, smile widening when he hears him say, “Oh trust me, I remember vividly.” 

“We’ve gotten to really know each other over the past couple of weeks, and you deserve to overcome this.” 

Liam’s holding a thoughtful expression, smile still there, but not as playful. Sympathy isn’t what Zayn’s looking for, and he can tell that that’s not what Liam’s giving him, simply a heartfelt compliment that he truly believes in. Staring down at the compassionate man below, Zayn thinks that if Liam’s words were a tactic to get him to open up, then he’s won. 

“It’s not that I’m scared of getting hurt,” he starts, feeling a weight come off as he lets himself spill what he normally keeps to himself. “I think that’s what Niall thinks it is. And Louis thinks it’s because I’m always worried about the future and what will happen if I fail and honestly?” He plays with the linen gloves protecting his hands. “That’s kinda what it was about when I was younger.” 

Gently, Liam pushes him forward, “But now?” 

“Now, it’s more about being scared of not knowing how I’ll handle myself if I don’t do well. I’ve always done well, and I’m not saying that in a conceited way, I just mean, I don’t know what I’m like, how much I’ll beat myself up over not performing best.” Zayn closes his eyes so he can focus on putting words to his emotions. “It’s not even the winning part, it’s that if I go out and come in second or third, or don’t even place, my brain’s trying to convince me that I’ll have a bad reaction, when I know that it won’t matter if I lose.” Shaking his head, Zayn stops himself from spiraling down a rabbit hole. “Is that just me telling myself that though? Maybe it’s right, and I’m saying that I’ll be ok with losing just to get through it, but it’s a lie.” 

Beep! Beep! Beep! 

“My heart doesn’t care about numbers,” Zayn continues as Liam stands to pull open the door for him, going straight to where he’s left his clothes behind the partition after he’s stepped out. “I keep trying to tell my head that, but it keeps bouncing it back and I’m petrified of what it’s telling me about not being so sure I know how I’ll handle losing. I might not even lose, I might come in first, but the anxiety comes from the unknown of _me_ , of how I have no idea of what to expect of myself. It’s like I’ve got pent up anticipation watching a scene in a film that shows a field of flowers, but there’s scary thriller music playing in the background and I’m waiting for a monster to pop out, but I **_know_** that it’s not going to based on what’s on the screen. It’s a paradox that my brain can’t comprehend, yet _it’s_ the one that made it up. I don’t even know if there _is_ a monster, but the fact that there _could_ be, that the music isn’t just an illusion, that’s where I’m stuck at.” Zayn emerges from behind the stand fully dressed, and hands over the gloves. “See? That’s what I’m battling with - what’s real and what's not, and I’m going in circles and none of this makes sense but-” 

“No, it does,” Liam nods kindly, voice soft to try and calm the other down from the manic state he was putting himself in. “I follow what you’re saying. For whatever reason, your head’s telling you that failing at skateboarding is the only way you’ll figure out how you would handle loss, but that’s not true.” He tosses the gloves on the abandoned chair, staying in his spot to face Zayn. “If something happened to Niall, if he got into a car crash, let's say, it would be the same feeling. It hasn’t happened and it _won’t_ happen, but you don’t know how you would react to that either, yet your head doesn’t let anxiety live through that possibility.” 

“But I have no control over something like that,” Zayn argues, crossing his arms to protect himself from the cold air that still lingers in the room, his white short sleeved tee not helping his body regulate its temperature back to normal like he wished. “It would be random and out of my grasp.” 

Liam shakes his head with conviction, “You’ve said it out loud time and time again - you can’t practice any more. You can’t make the tricks look any more perfect. It’s done. You’ve maxed out the control you do have and your brain still won’t let you breathe. That’s the irrationality of it.” Without sounding too forceful, Liam speaks his last line of advice in an emphatic tone. “You have to hold on to the control.” 

As he hugs himself tighter, Zayn continues to keep his eyes locked with Liam’s, the other pleading with his gaze for Zayn to listen to him. Maybe Liam knows he already tells himself that first thing every morning when he wakes up, and again when he goes to sleep, but says it anyway for effect. To let Zayn know that someone else has taken the time to try and understand what he’s going through and what the right approach to manage it might be. The worst part is that Liam’s right, Zayn _has_ done all he can, that’s the reality of it, and some part of his subconscious **_knows_** that because of that,he won’t be mad at himself later on if he winds up losing, but his brain’s still telling him that it’s a possibility he might be. It’s a circle that makes Zayn crack. 

“I’m trying,” he replies between gritted teeth. “I’m trying so hard, but it’s…” Fingers grip the ribcage they hold tighter. “I hate it and it’s only getting worse.” 

Seeing how emotional Zayn’s getting, Liam pulls down the other’s arms from around his body and replaces them with his own. “It’ll be over tomorrow,” he swears, rubbing the skater’s back soothingly. “I’ll be there, Niall will be there, Louis will be there, we’ll all be there, and we’re all proud of you. And I know you’re proud of you, there’s just a voice screaming on top of it.” 

“Thank you,” Zayn replies, chin hooked over Liam’s shoulder perfectly from their minimal height difference. “For not charging me your hourly rate, because you’ve got to be the best sports doctor on the planet.” 

When they pull away, Liam looks bashful at the comment. “I’ll be the best sports doctor on the planet if I can actually fix your knee. Don’t forget that you promised me you’d get it looked at if you win Gold.” 

“I said I’d consider it,” Zayn reminds him, back to his unserious demeanor. “And your Mum’s gotta uphold her part of the deal and send over more embarrassing pictures of you when you were younger.” 

While Zayn doesn’t think Liam would put up a fight on that exchange, he second guesses his assumption when the man points to the door. “So should we?” 

Taking a deep breath, Zayn prays that they leave the heavy topics in the room. “Yeah, I guess we should.” 

Only a few steps out the door and Liam’s speaking once more, “I got you something.” 

Zayn turns his head to look at the male’s side profile, “You did?” 

A few stray athletes pass them by, Zayn nodding his head to them in acknowledgment and then again to Liam when he’s opening the second door for him. “Yeah, when I went to the art museum this afternoon,” the boy explains. 

“If you bought me a piece of art, I owe you a lot more than an MRI scan.” Licking his lips out of habit, Zayn grins to himself at the joke. There’s no way in hell Liam had gone that far. 

Before they walk into the open gym area, Liam responds, “No, I saw it when I was walking around afterwards.” 

\-- 

Sitting on his bed, Zayn stares at the small, wooden, teardrop shaped machine, very underwhelmed. “So, uh, what is it?” Across from him on Louis’ bed, Liam’s face drops at Zayn’s lack of enthusiasm for his gift, causing the skater to jump into damage control mode. “I mean, you know I’m appreciative of you getting me anything at all, but it looks like a…” Zayn tilts his head as he stares at the contraption, trying to figure out what it might be used for other than a decorative piece to add to his book shelf. 

“It’s a diffuser,” Liam offers, reaching forward to press one of the back buttons to turn it on when he sees that the name doesn’t click in Zayn’s brain. 

Legs hanging over the edge of the bed, Zayn watches air puff out the top of the shoot. He’s about to say that it’s basically just a humidifier, but then a scent takes over his senses. “What’s that smell?” 

“Lavender. It’s the best oil with calming properties.” Liam points to the plastic tube next to the diffuser, “I bought a small bottle. You just put a few drops in the water inside. It’s on a timer, so you don’t have to do anything as long as it’s on.” He moves his bag that’s still on the mattress from earlier, to the center hole in the bedside table. “You should put it on until you start to fall asleep.” 

As he watches Liam, Zayn can’t help but feel moved by how attentive and gracious the man was, especially after what they had just discussed. “You really didn’t have to do this,” he scolds him lightly. 

Once he sees that his things won’t fall out, Liam sits back upright. “You won me my Eevee, we’re even.” 

Zayn’s not sure how he can repay Liam for being his unexpected rock during this whole journey, but an arcade prize definitely isn’t it. “Do you want to want to watch a film?” 

Going along with the ‘first’s’ theme of the night, Zayn scoots over for Liam to join him on his bed, not to dole out a massage or to adhere whatever method of recovery he felt like trying out that day, but to provide comfort by having another body next to him. Right now, he just wants to feel like he isn’t alone and he’s pretty sure that Liam doesn’t need any explanation to understand that. 

“Sure.” The word’s barely above a whisper, Liam moving over and taking up the right side of the bed. 

When he gestures for Zayn to take the remote from him, the skater pushes it back. He trusts Liam, knows that he’ll pick something that will keep him distracted more than the man’s warm body pressed against his already is. 

His instincts prove to be correct when he falls asleep ten minutes later, exhaustion from the day’s activities causing his head to rest against Liam’s shoulder, the smell of expensive cologne and lavender a lulling combination. 

And instead of yelling at Zayn for leaving the TV on when he walks into the room later that night, Louis takes the remote from Liam’s slumbering side and shuts it off himself. 

**Competition Day: 0**

_[Celebration, coronation](https://youtu.be/2rN1qkCLMhQ)_

_[No debatin’, crown me king, I’m tired of waitin’](https://youtu.be/2rN1qkCLMhQ)_

Glancing up at the scoreboard, Zayn double checks that he doesn’t even need to take the trick attempt, he’s already made it through to the Finals. It’s the only reason he can laugh at himself when he has to stop his body from running into a rail after his board slipped out from under him during the failed switch 360 flip landing. 

Heats over means that Zayn has a small break before the Finals start, but first: interviews. 

Board at his side, he walks over to the gates lining the park course and immediately feels his guards come up once his competition mindset goes down. The sudden switch was similar to how he felt waking up that morning, going from a groggy state of mind, to a near panic attack when he realized what day it was. Irrespective of getting more sleep that night than any other the week prior, or Liam still knocked out next to him, their bodies somehow finding their way under the duvet, Zayn woke in a sweat. As if he had built in senses, Liam woke soon after, coming to quickly when he saw the fear in Zayn’s eyes at what his body was doing to him. The physio dragged him downstairs for an early breakfast, since he knew Zayn not only needed space to breathe, but also because it would be difficult to stomach anything the closer they got to the event if his nerves were already this bad. Eventually Louis and the others showed up, but even with them filling the seats around the table, Zayn couldn’t help but want to leave; there were too many athletes in the room who had already competed and were in celebration mode. 

Somehow Zayn’s subconscious kicks him into gear when the interview’s over, the skater giving the reporter a curt smile before walking over to where Camden and the rest of the staff and teams were standing between the elevated seats for spectators, and the course. 

Again, Zayn finds himself zoning out to whatever his coach is saying, drinking the ice water that’s being handed to him by Niall and taking his hat off to pour a bit over his head in an effort to beat the humidity that’s been growing as the morning progressed. 

Eyes darting around his immediate area, Zayn finds it strange how he had actively avoided the venue his entire time in Tokyo, yet this morning as he sat eating, all he wanted was to be here, in his space, where he could shut out the rest of the world and focus. There was always the option of holing himself up in his room for alone time, but to Zayn it seemed more productive to be at the event space. On the ride over Liam made him put on a brace just to be safe. The drive was only ten minutes, so he doubted anything could really be prevented in that minimal of a time range, but regardless, he put it on to make Liam feel more at ease. Niall and Louis tried not to make it seem like they were walking on eggshells around Zayn, but the skater knew better than to be fooled. From inside the team room, Zayn called his parents, not wanting to video chat so they couldn’t see how apparent his nerves were physically affecting him. His hands were shaking, and despite getting a hell of a lot more sleep than he expected (thanks to Liam’s lavender concoction, or Liam himself, maybe even both, Zayn wasn’t sure), his skin still looked pale up until he went out to warm up for the Heats. 

“Does that all make sense?” 

Looking back at Camden, Zayn nods, “Yeah.” 

In reality, even if he was listening, it doesn’t matter what the man said, Zayn’s going to do his own thing. Street skateboarding’s all about figuring out tricks in the moment, he can’t exactly run a play. . What Zayn had been practicing was accuracy, but more so different variants of tricks for that exact reason. The larger the bank of tricks that you could pull from, the better your strategy. 

Photographers stood behind the barriers with their long barreled cameras, trying to get as good an angle of the skater as their positions would allow. It’s nothing new, but in the headspace that’s currently suffocating him, Zayn needs to get away, so he says that to his crew huddled around him before he decides to take off, Louis, Niall, and Liam following him into the venue rooms carved away under the audience seating. 

“Want some sludge?” Louis asks once they’re inside the allotted Team GB space. 

Staring at the energy gel pouch that his friend’s holding out for him, Zayn passes it off, “I’m good.” It’s the worst consistency of food known to man, hence the nickname they’ve given it, but with the twists and turns his stomach’s making at the moment, Zayn’s not turning it down for that, but more because he’s not sure if he eats it, he won’t just chuck it up straight away. 

‘Put this on,” Liam materializes in front of where Zayn’s sitting after having gone over to his medical bag. 

Examining the compression sleeve in the physio’s hand, Zayn starts to get a bit aggravated. He just wanted to be alone, and he only had ten minutes before he had to go back out for the start of the Finals. If he wanted to spend it tending to his knee, he would’ve told Liam outrightly. “I feel fine,” he replies gruffly. 

“I know,” Liam says with an understanding tone, “but please.” He’s pushing the sleeve forward for more emphasis, brows bunched together in desperation to be listened to. 

_That damn pout._

Lifting his foot up, Zayn grants Liam access to take off his shoe and pull the sleeve over his socks and up to his knee. 

“There’s this fit girl about three rows up in the stands.” Niall leans his shoulder against one of the pillars in the middle of the room, sunglasses now hooked on the collar of his Team GB Staff t-shirt. “After Zayn takes this, I’m making her my date to the after party.” 

“You better pick a backup if it’s the brunette with the ray bans and yellow plaid top,” Louis snickers, arms crossed over his chest that’s clad in the same blue and red uniform shirt that Zayn’s wearing, exclusive to the only two British Skateboarding athletes. 

“Man fuck off,” Niall swears, clearly used to being ridiculed by the shorter male since he barely flinched at the insult. “You’ll be the one to buy our first round for the night.” 

Much like Niall, Louis seemed relatively unfazed by the proposed bet. “Walk in with anyone else and you’re buying ours.” 

“Not gonna happen,” the Irishman refutes, eyes trained on Zayn’s quiet figure. 

“Right,” Louis announces, dropping his arms down to his side when he realizes that not even their banter was proving to be useful for Zayn’s jumbled head. “Well we’re just gonna go get something to eat before things get started.” 

Finished with the sleeve, Liam retreats with the other two while Zayn sits in silence, staring down at his shoeless right foot. He’s about to start giving himself a pep talk when the tattoos littering his left leg catch his attention. 

First there’s the teddy bear with sunglasses - an image that almost got him and Louis killed. They’d gone out on the town in New York City to a strip club one night when Zayn took a liking to a towering, overweight guy’s t-shirt with the bear print on it. Given the environment, he didn’t feel comfortable going up and asking the man where he got his top, so instead, Louis tried to snap a picture of the tee inconspicuously to use as a template for a tattoo artist, except the idiot had the flash on and the sudden explosion of light cut their night short. Zayn wasn’t about to find out how the giant took to his picture being taken like that, so he and Louis bounced as soon as the embarrassing moment was over. 

Then there was the wolf that Liam had pointed out before. At the time, and even now, Zayn thought the design was cool, that’s all there was to it, but his girlfriend back then wasn’t such a huge fan of how quickly he was filling up his body during that time. In retrospect, he has to agree with her on that year being one where he found himself in a chair almost twice a month, but in no way did he think that that was a bad thing. It wasn’t the most stable time in his life, what with having to “recoup” from his knee bang up, and then deal with the rocky relationship he was in with the girl herself, but Zayn doesn’t th- 

Suddenly Zayn feels his breathing start to increase rapidly, throat betraying him just like his heart and becoming tighter the more air from his lungs look for a quick exit. What was meant to be a pattern of positive flashbacks, seems to have backfired on him the more he thinks about that volatile year. 

He puts his head in his hands and pushes his palms into his eyes to rid himself of any visual distractions as he tries to take in deep breaths. 

_You have to take control._

Standing up, Zayn starts to pace back and forth, body lifting up and down with each step thanks to his right shoe still laying discarded by the chair. 

_Take control._

The steady breathing starts to alleviate the heavy beating of his heart. To continue with the improvement, Zayn thinks back to his parents’ faces when he told them he got signed professionally, but finds himself mentally slipping when he wishes they were there to tell him things were going to be alright. 

Rushing over to one of the tables, Zayn ignores the buzzing of his phone and grabs a bottle of water, chugging as much as he can, and then taking a huge gulp of air after he swallows. He moves on to jumping up and down to get the energy, or whatever it was inside of him, **_out_**. 

Turning around, Zayn nearly stumbles when he realizes that Liam’s back in the room, and _fuck, it’s been 10 minutes already?_

The man eyes Zayn cautiously, trying to figure out if he should tend to him in any way or stay pretending like everything’s ok. “I’ll walk out with you,” he offers patiently. 

Zayn nods, taking another drink before sitting back down in his chair and taking off the sleeve. 

“Did you get my text?” 

Zayn’s focused on being present, slipping his shoe back on and tying the laces. His thumb runs over the suede material, grounding him. As he continues to tie the knot, he answers Liam, “What?” 

“My text.” The man pulls out his phone to make sure it sent properly. “I sent it to you like five minutes ago.” 

“I don’t know,” Zayn replies as he double checks that the knot’s secure, before retrieving his mobile from inside his short’s pocket. “Now’s not the time to be airdropping me pictures.” 

Liam stays where he’s standing in the middle of the room, “It’s not pictures, it’s a playlist.” 

Opening the text, Zayn can see that it is. Touching the link, he saves the list once the music app’s uploaded the tracks. “Thanks, I’ll listen later.” In a flash, Zayn stores his phone away safely and goes back to breathing in and out. In and out. 

“No, it’s for now,” the other makes clear. 

Clenching his jaw, Zayn did his best to keep his cool. “Liam, I’m about to go on for the most important contest of my life. I don’t have time for this.” 

There’s no indication in Liam’s facial features that he’s at all put off by Zayn’s words, instead, he stays his usual, even tempered self. “Do you trust me?” 

“Trust y-” Zayn’s eyes flit over from where he’s been aiming his vision at a poster on the far wall. “Do you know how long it took me to put together a playlist for this?” 

Deep down, he hates how he’s taken to an aggressive tone with the boy, but he thought Liam understood what he was going through, thought he was the one that he didn’t have to explain things in black and white to. It’s what causes him to stand up from his seat and start towards the door, emotionally charged. 

“Exactly!” Liam rushes to put himself between Zayn and the doorway, filled with determination. “You were the one who told me that if you already know the songs, they’re not going to work.” His eyes flicker back and forth between Zayn’s fiercely. “Use it.” 

Liam’s as serious as Zayn’s ever seen him, but as much as he wants to get that urgent look off the man’s face, he can’t afford to fuck this up. No matter if Liam’s right or not. If it were any other contest maybe he’d give in, but not this one. “I’m going to be late,” he mutters, pushing past Liam to make his way out in the direction of the arena. 

Left staring at the empty room, Liam sighs to himself before turning around and following after Zayn. 

The closer the skater gets to the corridor opening, the louder the outside noise of spectators and general commotion gets. When he makes it out into the open air, the sun pelts down on his arms and Zayn instantly misses the air conditioning that eliminated the humidity. Thankfully he’s allowed to wear a hat so the strong rays can’t blind him while he rides. 

“You don’t need it, but good luck mate!” Louis slaps a hand on Zayn’s shoulder when he finds himself back in front of his small crew, Harry adding an enthusiastic “don’t break a leg! But do!” 

Inserting himself selfishly into his best friend’s space, Niall envelops Zayn in a tight embrace. “I’m so proud of you.” From behind, Zayn can see Kristin give him a double thumbs up. 

Rubbing Niall’s back, he becomes overwhelmed by emotions at how much he and the male he’s attached to have built. It was both of them, not just Zayn. Sure, he was the one on the board, the one risking his sanity and bone structure, but Niall was the one who was right there by his side the whole time. He was there from the beginning, when no one knew his name, before he had inked up skin, listening to his dreams and aspirations that seemed damn near impossible at the tender age of eight. Now they were here. All the early morning wake up calls to make the plane to whatever destination they needed to be at, Niall catching the whole thing on film and masterfully editing it all together to make Zayn look a lot cooler than he actually was. All the late nights talking shit so that Zayn can try and keep himself from crying at whatever this newfound “anxiety” was that had begun to take over his competition life. All the _happy_ cries that came from the countless wins and sponsorship deals, moving into their house. It wasn’t just Zayn. 

“Love you bro,” he speaks into Niall’s ear so the other male can hear him above the crowd, breaking the hug right after. 

Camden’s waiting with a stern, kind guise. “Just like you practiced.” 

Zayn nods, casting his eyes over to the only person left. 

“You’ve made it this far, you’ll make it out in one piece.” Liam pulls him in for a hug, “I believe in you.” 

Taking a deep breath, Zayn closes his eyes to let the man’s familiar cologne fill his lungs and senses, paying close attention to the way Liam’s hands stretch along the microfiber to get as close to Zayn as possible. “Thanks.” Reluctantly Zayn pulls away, knowing that he’s got to get to his spot. “I’ll see you on the other side, yeah?” 

Liam’s fingers trail along Zayn’s back when they part, the male nodding in response as he watches Zayn grab his board and walk over to the stairs that lead to the top of the elevated landing. 

As soon as he’s standing next to the other seven skaters along the starting platform, Zayn grins widely into the suspended camera that pans over the contestants. It’s a genuine smile, his nerves still rattling him underneath, but the pride he has for representing his country outweighing them for the few seconds he’s being profiled. 

“Alright everyone, welcome to the Mens’ Street Skateboarding Final here in Tokyo. As we’ve mentioned before, this is the debut appearance of the sport at the Olympics, which means out of these top eight finalists, one of them will be the first in Olympic history to take home the gold medal.” 

As the English announcers trade off introducing the other seven skaters, three Brazilians, three Americans, and Kaito representing Japan, Zayn triple checks his wheels and bearings, kicking them with his heel to make sure they were as steady as he needed them. 

“And then we have our reigning world champion, Zayn Malik. His title qualified him for The Games last September when he took home the trophy in Mexico City, but that didn’t stop him from accumulating enough points from other qualifying competitions to make him eligible twice over.” 

“The kid’s not the youngest out there, but he’s definitely the one people are placing the most bets on.” 

“He’s got the confidence and lightness on his feet that absolutely no one else can come close to. It’ll take a lot to take this away from the Brit.” 

With his equipment all set, Zayn readjusts his earbuds and starts his calculated hype playlist while he watches the first contestant start them off. 

“Now, similar to the Heats, each contestant will have two, 45 second runs where they’re able to do as many tricks as they want over the entire course. Each run will be scored by our five judges, with the highest and lowest scores dropped. The remaining three will average out for a final run score.” 

As the second Brazilian falls out of a trick, Zayn grimaces, taking off his red Nike hat and running a hand through his hair before putting it back on. 

“After the runs, each skater will have five individual trick attempts. Same scoring system. The best four scores from either the skater’s runs or tricks, will be added together to give them their final score.” 

Out of good sportsmanship, all the skaters standing around the platform give the Brazilian a fist bump, but Zayn doesn’t think his showing was all that impressive. In order to set the tone and make sure that he secures a comfortable spot early on, Zayn knows he should deliver a swift punch on this first attempt. 

“Similar to the regular street season, it’d be smart for most skaters to try and pull off a lot riskier moves during their first runs.” 

“As they should James. If you know you’ve got a second chance, why play it safe on the first go around?” 

“And we know the same thing’s going through our skater on deck’s head, Zayn Malik.” 

Like he’s been doing, Zayn keeps with his deep breathing, getting ready to psych himself up, but it suddenly occurs to him that he’s comfortable. And not in a good way. 

Pulling out his phone, he sees the song that’s playing take over his lock screen. Liam was right. He’d spent so much time picking out the music, that it’s become recognizable. 

An uproar of sound causes Zayn to look up and see that the previous male’s score’s has just been posted, and it’s right then that he realizes he’s got to take a leap of faith. He’ll know in about two hours time whether or not it’s a good idea, but Zayn opens up the app and scrolls to find Liam’s playlist. 

Play. 

Leaning against the back rail, Zayn listens to the electronic beat start up. Based on their wild car ride together, Liam’s probably got a good idea of what direction to take with the choices he’s made, but the skater’s still cautious as he watches the cameras below reset, estimating he’s got about a minute out before his turn. 

_[I heard sirens in my head, from the first time that we met](https://youtu.be/JYWo22VCQXQ)_

_[Thought it was a false alarm](https://youtu.be/JYWo22VCQXQ)_

_[Yeah, we started as a spark, didn’t think we’d come this far](https://youtu.be/JYWo22VCQXQ)_

_[But here we are](https://youtu.be/JYWo22VCQXQ)_

The lyrics cause Zayn to stop mapping out his run and look over to where he knows his group’s standing behind the first set of barricades. All six sets of eyes are staring back at him, but he only pays attention to the boy with the birthmark situated right below his adams apple. 

_I’m dancing in flames, I’m dancing in flames_

_I ain’t scared of the blaze, don’t rescue me_

_And now I’m burning in your arms, endless fire in my heart_

_No it’s not a false alarm_

A flash of green on the opposite end of the course steals Zayn’s focus, the light below the camera his cue to start whenever he’s ready. The pop of colour causes him to hone back in on the task at hand, glancing down at the edge of the three meter high platform where he’s standing to avoid having to watch the massive screen projecting video feed of himself. 

_No it’s not a false alarm_

Right as the beat drops, he lets his weight fall onto his front foot, forcing the board down the angled acceleration strip. Flipping over the first gap, Zayn lands his board on top of the nearby rail, sliding down it and using the ¼ pipe on the opposite end of the course to turn himself back around. Kick pushing forward, he pops onto one of the boxes for another grind, riding up to the original starting platform afterwards and jumping off the board, only to throw it back down in front of him at the high elevation for greater momentum on the way down. He hits another gap flip and ledge grind before making his way across the course once more. Taking a deep breath, he drops down for the last time, using his velocity to slide his way across a 2 ¼ meter long ledge after perfectly landing the board on top of the metal piece. 

A loud horn goes off to signal that time’s up. 

Gliding his way over to the platform, Zayn’s pretty happy with how that turned out, and even more pumped to be able to go at it again now that the adrenaline is running through his veins. 

His board’s stopped moving, but he still stands on the wood, waiting for his score to show up on one of the billboard sized screens around the arena. 

8.7 

“Wouldn't expect anything other than such a solid first run from Zayn. So many tricks, on so many of the obstacles.” 

“He’s got a great mix of danger and technical ability. It deserved the 8.7.” 

With a perfect score being 10, Zayn’s thrilled about the takeaway. It’s a great foot to start out on, that’s for sure. 

Or so he thought. 

Watching the other five after him, he’s gauged that there’s one who he needs to keep his eye on: Lucas Santos. Just three tenths of a point separates the two competitors after the first run, but in skateboarding, it only takes one tenth. 

As he waits for the order to shuffle back around to him for his second run, Zayn takes note of everyone else’s pacing to know what strategy he should implement that would result in gaining a significant lead. He _has_ to get above a 9 if he wants to stand a chance against Lucas and take away any possibility of the Brazilian widening the gap. 

Standing patiently, Zayn sits tight for the green light to show itself, etching out the run he’s feeling come to him, like his body **_knows_** the tricks it wants when he steps up to the edge of the landing. 

_[I turn the music up, I got my records on](https://youtu.be/1Kf_6BWcOOg)_

_[I shut the world outside, until the lights come on](https://youtu.be/1Kf_6BWcOOg)_

_[Maybe the streets alight, maybe the trees are gone](https://youtu.be/1Kf_6BWcOOg)_

_[I feel my heart start beating to my favourite song](https://youtu.be/1Kf_6BWcOOg)_

The acoustic guitar comes into the mix at the same time as the green light shines, but Zayn holds himself back for the song to build up to its crescendo. It’s a snap that he needs to feel in order to start, so he waits like a horse at a race track behind the gate - eager to burst through, but not doing so until he’s allowed. And once he is, it’s game on. 

Coursing down the small ramp, he starts out with a huge multi flip over the middle gap and rail. The air gives Zayn the relief he needs from the exhertion of his left leg pushing his body forward as much as it can in between twisting his board and steadying himself across grinds. 

_I swear you, emerge blinking into_

_To tell me it’s alright_

Pushing down on the back tail of his deck, Zayn feels out the rotations that are going on under his feet to know when to shove his bent up knees back down to catch the grip tape. 

_As we soar walls,_

_Every siren is a symphony_

His feet absorb the shock from landing on top of the rail, and again when the board drops down to the cement, left leg out in a second to kick push as much momentum as he can for the rest of his tricks throughout the run. 

Right as the horn calls, Zayn finishes a quick kickflip off the ¼ pipe, and is all smiles when he knows he’s smashed the second run. Coasting on his board back to the platform, he stares up at the screen nearest to him and waits for the score, a replay of his biggest trick playing in the meantime. 

“Look at how perfect he pinches it in. A lot of people kind of wiggle when they get into tricks, but not Zayn - that’s specific to Zayn.” 

“And it’s a 9 Club!” 

Zayn’s heart soars at the hint at how well he’s done. 

In the world of street skating, there’s good, and then there’s great. A score above 9 is _above_ great. It gets you into what the skate world calls ‘The 9 Club’, which Zayn’s entered a record holding number of times, but that doesn’t lower his anticipation as he waits to hear just how far into the Club he’s gotten. 

“9.2! Putting Zayn back in first by 2.4 points.” 

Hitting his board against the ground, Zayn’s body bursts with energy. 

“Yes!” Louis shouts in disbelief, face split from how big his smile is. He’s got his arms around Niall’s shoulders from behind, but the younger lad’s too busy biting his nails as he watches the remaining skaters finish up their second runs to respond like Louis; he’s too nervous to see if anyone will be able to beat the 9. 

Relief floods the male’s body, his figure visibly relaxing, when no one does. 

“So there’s your current leader, Zayn Malik, sitting pretty.” 

Cheesing it up for the camera, Zayn shows his teeth in a wide smile as the lens follows him to the corner of the platform, where he takes a seat on his board. It’s been a while since he’s ridden, but he still feels like he needs to catch his breath some. Pulling out his phone, Zayn brings up his conversation with Liam. 

**You weren’t kidding when you said you were full of surprises**

Between the crowd and the music that’s blaring throughout the arena, he isn’t sure if Liam will be able to hear the notification, but he must, that or he has it on vibrate, because Zayn can see him dig into his pocket and take out his phone. The man’s looking up to the landing, worried when he sees that he has a notification from Zayn. He’s not terribly far away, but Zayn still finds it difficult to make out Liam’s expression as the physio types back furiously. 

**You like it?**

Louis gets an elbow to the ribs when Liam catches him looking over his shoulder, causing Zayn to chuckle and wonder what Liam scolds him with. Glancing down, he replies swiftly. 

**If I win, it’s thanks to you**

**You’ll win because you deserve it**

Skimming the words, Zayn pockets his phone and leans his head against the small backing behind him. It’s all breaths in and out between drinking cold water to stay cool until the trick section begins. 

— 

“Ok we’re back, and ready for the trick portion of the competition. Each skater will perform one trick, rotating until they’ve all attempted five in total. Remember, if a skater doesn’t land their trick, they must take a zero score for that attempt.” 

“Hopefully we won’t see a lot of those today, but it’s part of a lot of skaters’ strategies - go big or go home. If your lowest 3 scores are dropped, and you have high scores otherwise, you can afford to take the chance and receive a zero for a trick.” 

Being in the lead, Zayn now gets the advantage of going last, as the order changes from lowest to highest score. It’s a sweet spot to be in too, being able to assess what the judges are scoring for certain types of tricks and learn how far he needs to push the envelope to match up with the other seven scores, all while bopping his head around to his music that’s still playing. 

_Finally_ it gets to be his turn, and Zayn knows exactly what he’s going to do. 

Pushing next on Liam’s playlist for a fresh sound to drop into, Zayn lets the gritty uptempo beat blast through his ears. So far there’s only a mixture of four words being repeated, sliced, and tuned, but they work flawlessly. 

_[Reaching for higher ground](https://youtu.be/TtgZb0uGUGI)_

Mid air, Zayn uses his core strength to twist his body counterclockwise just the right amount to catch his board that’s sliding down its position on the middle ledge, and land in the opposite stance he started with. 

Niall and Louis grab at each other in awe as Zayn stands up from the crouching position he’s landed in and balls his right fist in self-pride at his execution. Liam’s smiling at their excitement, but still doesn’t know enough about scoring to know if what he’s just witnessed was amazing because he’s biased or because it was actually genius. 

“Come on, come on,” Zayn says under his breath as he makes it back to his starting place, blindly high fiving the other skaters as he keeps his eyes on the scoreboard. 

“Another 9 Club for Zayn Malik!” 

High off adrenaline, Zayn shouts in elation at having at least matched the score he needed. 

“9.3!” 

Nodding to himself over and over in approval, he pushes replay on the song to stay hyped until he’s shuffled back around to for his next trick attempt. 

The cycle’s almost finished with Zayn in the clear, but the second place Brazilian continues to give him a run for his money and knocks him off his spot. Lucas looks confident that his trick’s sent a clear message: he isn’t going to let Zayn stroll out of here with the gold medal. With his music already up at its top volume, the Brit uses the pressure as a motivator to clap back, prove that he’s the favoured skater for a reason. 

A running start gives Zayn the speed he needs to forcefully push down on the board’s back tail and launch his body into the air along with the deck. Scraping his shoe across the wood sends Zayn’s board into a spinning frenzy sideways and around itself as his figure continues to sail forward above it. 

_[We’re saving it up ‘til we break](https://youtu.be/6ENxmO60T9k)_

_[(Swerve, swerve, swerve, swerve)](https://youtu.be/6ENxmO60T9k)_

Body collapsing down with gravity, Zayn expertly steadies his frame, letting the leftover momentum take him down the rest of the course. 

“What!?” 

“He was nuts to try that for the score.” 

“And to land with such confidence. Another 9 Club, are you serious?” 

Back at the top of the landing, music continues to blare through Zayn’s speakers as he floats on his board with his hands on his hips. 

“It’s a 9.0! Putting Malik _back_ in the lead. Looks like this is going to be a chase until the end!” 

“Yes, come on!” Zayn yells in exhilaration, completely in his zone now that he’s found his rhythm. 

“This is crazy. We’ve seen people win with the four scores he has now, but that’s not going to cut it with the others right on his tail. _That’s_ how you know we’re at the Olympics.” 

Hat covering his eyes from the sun’s brightness, Zayn pays close attention to what each of his competitors perform as if they’re playing chess, and he’s waiting for them to take their fingers off the piece moved so he can swoop in and capture the pawn. He needs to drop an 8.7, it’s strategy or nothing now. 

“You’re witnessing history here boys,” Louis announces to Harry and Liam, having kicked Niall to the side so he could appoint himself as the one to give play by plays. 

Liam’s biceps bulge as he crosses his arms tighter in front of his chest. “He’s got two 9.8’s on record, he can do it.” 

In sync, Louis and Niall both turn with surprised expressions at the stats Liam’s just dropped. 

“Preliminary research,” the man elaborates in a defensive tone when he sees how he’s being criticized. 

Both boys turn from Liam to each other, smiles widening at what’s going unsaid. 

One more drink of water and Zayn’s back up. The second round of trick attempts have made it clear that the gold’s going to come down between him and Lucas, but lucky for Zayn, the Brazilian missed his kickflip crooked grind. Such a mistake caused Zayn to breathe a sigh of relief, but he doesn’t let his alleviation show. He refuses to feel safe. 

Rather than let the world in on his tension, Zayn smiles at the next song that Liam’s hand picked. 

_[Bridge over troubled water, ice in my muddy water](https://youtu.be/JUXzdeYnPTc)_

_[Rich off a mixtape, got rich off a mixtape](https://youtu.be/JUXzdeYnPTc)_

_[Probably shouldn’t be drivin’, it just got so much harder](https://youtu.be/JUXzdeYnPTc)_

_[Can’t even see it straight, I can’t even see it straight](https://youtu.be/JUXzdeYnPTc)_

Because he knows the beat by heart and could probably rap the words in his sleep, Zayn doesn’t skip the anthem. Technically the action goes against the rules _he’s_ put in place for his playlist methodology, but it’s the fact that he hadn’t anticipated it that has Zayn’s energy surging. 

The rap flows at _just_ the right speed for Zayn’s brain to zone in on the gap he’s flying towards, but not _too_ fast that he can’t focus on guiding the tip of his board’s back lip onto the fifteen centimeter wide ledge after kickflipping the deck into the air. He glides down the last meter of metal, arms out at his sides to keep his perfect balance. 

As he coasts through the course after a smooth landing, Zayn pulls his hat off and nearly throws it out in front of him from exultation. 

“Watch as he goes up. He has to make sure that he kicks his board just enough to flatten the board, not nose dive, not rocket it, so that he can get that tail up there and slide it all the way.” 

“And going backwards that whole time is so sketchy, will surely gain a good- Are we even surprised that it’s another 9 Club?” 

“Zayn seems to be happy with that one.” 

Instead of staying humble, Zayn allows himself to be overly animated at how pleased he was with the execution and landing. Fuck, the _landing_. 

“He should be, it was near flawless” 

“9.5!” 

Straight into the camera that’s trained on him for a reaction, Zayn screams “Yes! Yes!” 

Liam doesn’t need a translation to know how extraordinary a score like that was, unable to stand still in his spot from the liveliness coursing through him. 

“He just dropped an 8.7, that’s- I mean, just let that sink in.” 

Even with his earbuds being sound cancelling, Zayn can still hear the English announcers speak after the Japanese. And it’s true, dropping an 8.7 is mental, much less replacing it with a 9.5, but he can’t let himself get too excited. He’s done a good job so far, might even be on his way to making a personal record, but it’s not over yet. 

Nerves start to fade as the pressure gets to a few skaters, causing them to either miss their tricks completely or go for an easy option that will at least get them _something_ and not a zero. To Zayn, there’s only one person that matters. 

“Santos needs a 9.6 to put himself in first, which would be insane, but he has it in him to pull off. Let’s see what he can do.” 

Only five seconds go by, but that’s all it takes. 

“And a _perfect_ kickflip crooked grind!” 

Out of respect, Zayn claps in congratulations, because holy fuck, that was textbook. Watching the slow motion replay on the screen, he can feel his heart suddenly start to speed up as the scores are tallied. 

“Even if it doesn’t put him in first now, Lucas will be getting rid of a 7.8 and that’s great.” 

“Yeah. It’s no 9.6, Zayn’s kickflip back tail fakey was a 9.5 and a kickflip crook is, dare I say, not quite as hard.” 

“It’s not as risky because you’re not going blindside.” 

Having the highest score meant that there was no avoiding the camera that was waiting for Zayn’s reaction, but he didn’t fall victim to it’s lure, eyes still glued to the closest screen. 

“9 Club!” 

_Fuck_. 

“He matches Zayn’s score of a 37 with a 9.5!” 

If he wasn’t preoccupied with walking over to the small computer screen in the platform’s far corner, Zayn would’ve thought he was having a heart attack with how fast the organ was beating. Checking the detailed score breakdown, he pulls out an earbud and looks to someone for instruction. They both have the same total scores. Who goes first between the two of them now? 

“So, they’re tied with a 37. Lucas wins that tie breaker with the highest score of the day so far- well he has two 9.5’s, Zayn only has one.” 

“How is this even real?” 

“Because this is the Olympic finals, that’s why it’s real.” 

“Zayn on deck for his fourth best trick attempt.” 

One of the Americans comes over to Zayn’s side to let him in on the protocol when he sees the blind confusion on the Brit’s face. Even though he’s grateful for the help, once Zayn comprehends that he’s to go first, his turmoil heightens. 

“So here’s where we’re at: Zayn needs to get rid of a 9.0 to increase his score.” 

“I’ve never seen a bunch of the skaters, up at the top, looking at the board, trying to figure out what they can do. I mean, that’s the job _we_ do.” 

Zayn’s racking his brain trying to come up with something. He’s glad he’s put his second earbud back in, because the noise of the crowd is ironically too loud for him to think straight. 

“This is unbelievable right now. Can Zayn Malik get the 9.1 that he needs to bump up ahead of Lucas Santos and break out from this tie?” 

For a split second, he goes to reach for his phone in order to see what Liam’s got queued next, but quickly stops himself. Reading the names won’t be of any benefit to him, he needs to _listen_ , sink into the song and get lost. 

After ending the current song for a new one, Zayn can make out his name being said in a Japanese accent by the host announcer, but he blocks anything after that out with a deep breath. 

_I can do the front 180- No, that’s too easy. What about the tailwhip-_

_Why the fuck is the music so slow?_

Being brought out of thoughts because of music choice was exactly why Zayn feared trusting Liam to begin with. Thirty seconds must’ve already gone by, yet there was no build up that made up for the slow start. He thinks he recognizes the singer’s voice, and it _is_ soothing, something Zayn would probably really like listening to in the background as he cooked himself a meal, but the 5,000 people in the stands and millions tuning in around the world reminded him he wasn’t in front of the hob stirring his famous butter chicken sauce. 

As he’s about to look at the screen in his pocket, the green light on the other end of the course grabs his attention. For a few moments Zayn debates whether or not to quickly change the music back to his original playlist, but then he thinks back to the look on Liam’s face in the changing room. _Trust me._

Hands away from his pockets, Zayn grips the tip of his board instead, kicking at its trucks out of habit and staring down at the center ledge that he plans on using. 

_[And I will guide you, let me remind you heights I would fly to](https://youtu.be/ykT7SwAHjUs)_

_[Depths I would dive to, yeah I’ll always find you](https://youtu.be/ykT7SwAHjUs)_

Almost instantly the beat drops out of nowhere. _There we go_ , Zayn thinks, head bobbing dramatically at the bass and power behind the voice. 

_So baby light me up, you can breathe me in_

_Imma hold you up, until the quiet comes_

Eyes are closed, all of Zayn’s other senses turned off besides his hearing. With his surroundings blacked out, the skater’s lips turn up in a satisfied smile at the aura the song’s creating within him. A chanting chorus of backup vocals prompts Zayn to open his lids and throw his board down in time with his running start. 

_Baby light me up_

Putting the right amount of pressure on the back tail, the deck kicks up into the air, Zayn’s body following the trajectory, but separating itself from the spinning wood and twisting around. 

_You can breathe me in_

His right foot catches the board to stop its rotation, body concentrating so that it doesn’t allow gravity to continue pulling it forward faster than the deck that’s now centered between his feet. 

_Imma hold you up_

Arms out, he balances not only himself, but also the board below him that’s sliding down the flat ledge, wood only. 

_Until the quiet comes_

Bracing himself for the impact, Zayn keeps his knees bent as the wheels hit the concrete, absorbing the force, which the skater uses to push his figure back into a standing position. 

“ZAYN DOES IT! 360 FLIP LIP ON THE TOP LEDGE!” 

Niall launches himself into the air, Louis catching him in a hug on the way down. Gaping at what he’s just seen, Harry studies the replay that’s on loop. Meanwhile, Liam’s hands that have been resting on his head in anticipation are now pulling at his brown hair, voice breaking from how loudly he’s shouting in joy. 

“Yeah, I mean that’s it.” 

Back at the top of the starting platform, Zayn throws his board down in a bought of passion. 

“This right here is going to force Lucas into doing the _craziest_ trick on his last attempt.” 

“What do you give that? A 10?” 

“Also, first try _ever_. He wasn’t doing that in practice.” 

Stoked wouldn’t even begin to describe how Zayn’s feeling. Practically every skater in his vicinity is giving him a pat on the back, and the thing is, he doesn’t even need to look at the score, he _knows_ he did amazing, but was it amazing _enough_? 

“9 Club! No surprise!” 

“9 POINT 6!” 

Zayn nods stoically, wishing that this was an ordinary competition, that way he could revel in the score. However, since it’s the furthest thing from normal, he’s got to sit back and watch his rival take on his last attempt and pray to god he comes out with a lower score. Sadly it’s a hard ask, because Zayn knows Lucas can do it. It’d be a miracle, but certainly not impossible for a skater of his skill. 

“One of the highest scores in street skating history.” 

“No one can argue that.” 

“Talk about dealing with the pressure well.” 

The arroyo of the arena allows Zayn to hear the English announcer’s last comment, the male shaking his head to himself at the irony. 

“Fifth and final tricks coming up in the Men’s Street Skateboarding Finals, here at the 2020 Tokyo Olympics.” 

On his way to grabbing another water, Zayn considers going down to where his group is now that he’s got a few minutes to spare, but once he spots the crew talking amongst themselves, he decides against it, realizing that it’s more effective to keep himself in the zone he was already in than have to reenter it later on. Apart from isolating himself for the better, Zayn could use as much time as he could get to try and come up with what he trick he might have to do if Lucas checks him and he winds up having to drop a 9.2. 

“I couldn’t tell you if anyone’s ever had to drop a 9.2,” Camden admits nervously, hand falling down his face in distress. 

Scratching at his short beard, Liam asks a question he already knows the answer to, but his own jitters make him ask anyway, “It’s possible though, right?” 

“Of course,” Louis replies strongly, no doubt at all in his voice, but Liam can tell from his less than relaxed stance that he doesn’t fully believe in his words. “And if anyone’s going to, it’s gonna be Zayn.” 

Back to biting his nails, Niall puts in his own opinion, “I’ve seen him do some crazy shit in our days. He’s got it in him.” 

Niall he _does_ believe, but Liam still lets his mind wander, “Imagine if he got a 10…” 

“Jinx him, and I’ll make sure you don’t get on the plane back to England,” Louis snarls, resulting in Liam shutting his mouth for the remainder of the break. 

Since he’s back in the lead, Zayn returns to being last in the lineup and he’s more than grateful, not necessarily for any other reason than to see what his fate will be after Lucas takes center stage. 

“Everyone here is stoked off their faces. This final has given us everything we could’ve hoped for.” 

A camera stays on Zayn as he stretches his arms in an attempt to loosen up as the other five skater’s finish and third place is announced, making it evident that the last two will be duking it out for first and second. 

“Current leader, Zayn Malik with an overall score of 37.6. He’s sixth tenths of a point ahead of Lucas Santos who’s in second place.” 

“Alright, this is it. The Olympic Gold medal comes down to this. Lucas needs a 9.7, but he can win!” 

“He can, and he’s got the tricks in him, but it’s gotta be pretty technical.” 

Zayn’s music stays blaring, his heart beating wildly out of his chest as the Brazilian drops into the course and heads towards the left rail. Craning his neck around the camera, he feels like everything plays out in slow motion. 

One second, Lucas is grinding down the bar, and the next, he’s rolling into a somersault, so as to not break the high impact fall with his arms, risking any broken bones. 

A triumphant roar rips through Zayn’s throat as he drops the board in his grip and leans his body back in victory. 

“And that seals it! Zayn Malik _is_ your Olympic Gold Medalist, the _first_ in Men’s Street Skateboarding history!” 

Behind the Team GB crew, the crowd goes wild, but it’s Niall and Louis who take the cake for most thrilled. Both jump the rails lining the course and race out to meet Zayn, who’s pulled out his earbuds and is running down the small ramp connected to the skaters’ platform. 

“Oh my god!” Zayn screams, collapsing into the two boys who are attempting to lift him up. Their efforts make him laugh and push them away fondly with a “don’t you dare”, but he’s quick to yank them both back in for a mangled hug. 

Somewhere in the middle of the pile Niall’s shouting has turned into high pitched squeals, their energy unable to stay contained in his thin frame, Louis digging his fingers so deep into Zayn’s skin, that the younger man knows will leave marks. The cameras snapping away on the course’s outlying edges, the deafening sound of the audience, his friends celebratory yelling - they’ve all become one sound, or no sound at all, Zayn’s not quite sure yet. 

Out of nowhere he sees Liam, and without a second thought, Zayn tugs on the man’s staff shirt to pull him into the hug. As if he’s known the boy all his life, Zayn buries his face into Liam’s neck, holding on for dear life and trying not to shed the tears that are threatening to fall. 

“I told you you could do it!” Liam exclaims proudly, arms tight around Zayn’s body that’s shaking from shock at his dreams coming true. 

He doesn’t need to hear anything like that, compliments or praise, Zayn just wants to explode from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. And while he’s grateful for Liam’s sturdy grip keeping him in one piece, he breaks the embrace as soon as he sees who’s standing next to the physio. 

“Thank you!” Zayn says to Camden above the commotion, holding on to the individual he had grown to love over the past year. 

Sure, Zayn was the one who made this happen, who cleared his throat and called checkmate, but it was Camden who took him from self-made World Champion to Olympic gold medalist. It wasn’t easy for the coach to adapt to Zayn’s laid back training attitude at first, the skater knows that, but he’s also extremely aware that Camden didn’t have to be as cooperative as he was, could’ve simply demanded things be done his way or he wouldn’t take the job. Zayn shared the glory with him because of that, just as much as he did with Niall for acting as his shadow since childhood, and Louis for pushing him out of his comfort zone in the most ‘my trust fall consists of jumping out a plane’ way possible. 

“It was all you,” Camden replies into his ear, a few slaps to the back following right after. 

Like it had after every other competition, Zayn’s anxiety washed away from his body the second Lucas handed Zayn the coveted title. Instead of feeling a crushing weight in his heart, Zayn doesn’t feel much of anything. Not in a bad way, just in a shock induced sort of way. 

He doesn’t know where to go or what to do, so when he sees the other competitors walk over to him to offer their own congratulations, Zayn’s glad that question’s answered. Kaito’s handing over his board that he abandoned on the landing before giving him kudos on the win. It goes like that for a few more minutes with skaters from this morning’s Qualification Heats until Louis squeezes his way through the crowd and trades Zayn his skateboard for the British flag. 

_What an honour,_ is all that runs through Zayn’s mind as he hoists the material behind him while standing in front of the east wing of the arena where most of the media’s lined between the course and the audience. There’s no need for flashes with the sun having reached its peak height for the day, but Zayn still finds himself borderline overwhelmed by the amount of languages being spewed at him, which he can only translate as a general ‘look this way!’. 

When he feels like he’s spent enough time in front of the press, he starts to pace around the circular arena, flag now draping down his back. Looking up into the crowd, Zayn smiles and waves at those who are eager to show him their own British flags. Liam runs to get in front of him, walking backwards so he can get a good shot of Zayn in action on his phone, the pictures no doubt being snapped away at such a rapid pace that their final numbers will warrant a folder of their own. He’s on his last portion of the lap when he gets the wind knocked out of him. 

“Mum?” Zayn’s voice is small, especially among the throngs of cheering that echoes throughout the Park. 

Sitting front row is a woman who shares Zayn’s high cheek bones and soft features, his Dad and three sisters on either side of her waving their own small Union Jack’s, smiles as wide as humanly possible. 

Shoving his large flag back at Niall, who had found his way next to him one way or another, Zayn runs over to the barricade the family of six was sitting behind and climbs up onto the rails so he can reach them, cameras turning to capture the emotional moment. 

As soon as he steadies his body, the whole group does their best to embrace him, tears falling from at least one of them besides himself, Zayn can tell from the wetness on his neck. The boy doesn’t even care to ask them how or why they’re there, he’s too overtaken with the fact that they _are_. 

Much like it had been with his team, each member of the family tries to get as close as they can to Zayn, the kisses to his head causing his hat to fall off, but no one bothers to go after it. 

“I’m so proud of you sunshine,” his Mother cries out, doing her best to wipe her tears away when she pulls back and frames Zayn’s face with her hands. 

“You were so sick!” His youngest sister Safaa recounts with her phone out to capture the moment, Zayn too preoccupied with coming to terms that they were all there in the flesh to even push the camera away endearingly. 

His Father’s “shredded great!” comment makes him laugh at how innocently the older man was trying to incorporate the terminology he had picked up over the years into a meaningful sentiment. 

Zayn can feel his legs start to sting from the lactic acid building up, but he ignores the pain, he just wants to stay here forever. 

“Go get your medal then,” second youngest Waliyha goads while waving at her watery eyes to keep her makeup pristine. 

Holding onto the rail with one hand, Zayn uses his other to mess with the girl’s hair, smiling at her annoyed whine before moving on to kiss his older sister Doniya on the cheek. As bratty as she may be, Waliyha’s right, he needs to get back to the formalities, so Zayn jumps back down and wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt on the way back to his team to rid it of any lingering tears and makeup that might have transferred onto his skin. 

The numbness starts to finally fade once Zayn poses with his board for proper pictures, giving over the top smiles to the cameramen that walk forward for a close up to show the millions that are watching at home. 

It’s ridiculously cheesy, but he can only think of the fact that this all feels like a dream. Like he’s high off Liam’s lavender humidifier thing and he’s waiting to be woken up and suffocated by the sharp anxiety that’s haunted him for damn near months. All that matters right now is that he does his best to stay in the present and cherish the sound of rushing blood in his ears from pure happiness, and nothing less. 

“Zayn!” 

Turning around, he sees Niall holding the British team jacket that has been _highly_ recommended (see: required) by Camden to wear during the medal ceremony. It takes Zayn less than a few seconds to run over, taking the jacket and handing over his board, along with the phone and earbuds that were in his pocket. 

Slipping his arms through the sleeves, Zayn can see that during the time he had taken pictures and celebrated with his family momentarily, the three tiered podium had been brought out. All he can do is shake his head at how surreal it was that he was stopping behind the middle spot, Lucas to his right and another well respected American skater to his left. Japanese, Portugues, and English announcers introduce the two chair members that will be handing over the medals, Zayn continuously shifting his weight from foot to foot, hopping almost, in eager anticipation. Rather than the itch under his skin coming from anxiety, the tingling stems from an entirely opposite place: repressed vitality. Some escapes as he claps for the other two as they’re given the bronze and silver medals, but to Zayn, it feels like there’s an infinite amount, especially when the pacing of the arena music allows for what comes next. 

“Gold Medalist, the first in Skateboarding history, representing Great Britain...Zaaaaayn Malik!” 

Stepping up onto the podium, Zayn waves to the crowd, the cameras, home, his team standing front and center. At this point his face hurts from smiling so much, but what a problem to have. Briefly he turns around to the half of the arena that he’s got his back turned to, eyes finding his family right away when he does. 

As he faces forward, the first official walks up to present him the gold medal. With the way the gold glistens in the sun against the black velvet case, Zayn almost doesn’t want the man to take it out, but he dips head anyway, the weight of the element on his neck such a welcoming counterattack to the heaviness that his mind had forced there before the win eradicated all of his anxiety. 

Delicately, Zayn takes the medal in his hands once he stands up straight, examining the etchings and nearly missing the next male offer him a handshake and small bouquet of flowers. 

”Now please stand for the national anthem of Great Britain.” 

Hands behind his back as God Save the Queen plays, Zayn watches with insurmountable pride the British flag be hoisted above the American and Brazilian. 

When the song’s ended, he puts his right hand over his heart and bows to the crowd in thanks once more, quickly making room for the other two medalists to join him on his step so they can all take pictures together. 

The medal hits Zayn’s chest hard when he jumps off the top step after the photo op. Right on schedule, Niall’s there by his side to fawn over the freshly polished gold, the two temporarily in their own world as they walk through the tunnel that leads to the team areas. It’s a short lived bubble however, because as soon as they’re entering their room, Zayn feels himself be tackled onto the couch by a blur of a body that no doubt belonged to Louis. The dogpile grows with Niall and Harry, but Liam’s holding back and advising against the roughhousing for the sake of Zayn’s knee. No one listens. 

An hour later and the Olympian’s completed a post-victory press conference that mainly consisted of all the questions he expected to be asked. Did you think you would ever win? What’d it take to get there? What would you have attempted if Lucas wouldn’t have fallen and forced you into your fifth trick? It’s standard stuff, but Zayn answers it all with a grin he doesn’t think will ever leave his face. And when he’s rounding the corner back into his team’s room to see his family waiting, it definitely doesn’t falter. 

“What are you guys doing here?” It’s a question that has an obvious answer, but Zayn’s mind is overflowing with too many endorphins to make sense of how his family and him were all in the same room when he was sure they would be huddled around a TV at one of his Aunt’s houses back home. 

“We didn’t want to worsen your nerves by being in the crowd,” Doniya explains, waiting for her turn as her Mother hogs the winner all to herself in a bone crushing hug. 

He wouldn’t put it past his eldest sibling to be the one to come up with the idea herself. She was always the most thoughtful when it came to his unruly mental obstacles, and Zayn couldn’t be any more thankful. As overjoyed as he was that they were all there, he couldn’t imagine what it would’ve felt like standing up on the stage of all stages knowing that if he failed, his family had come all this way for nothing. 

“So, work?” 

Zayn’s Dad lets out a deep laugh as he pulls his wife away from the skater to lock him in a tight hug of his own. “You think we were going to let anything get in our way of missing this?” 

“Yeah, a trip to Japan?” Waliyha’s sarcastic tone has Zayn narrowing his eyes at her as he squeezes his Father. “Let’s see it,” she says, already reaching for the medal around her brother’s neck as soon as the two men have let go of one another. 

Suddenly the whole family’s lurching at the medal. Zayn can’t blame them, it’s as breathtaking as he always imagined it to be. He can’t even find it in him to complain about how many pictures everyone was taking with it either, he was right there with them. And so was Liam, of course. Zayn was definitely going to have to ask him later on if he ran out of storage on his phone from the amount of shots he took that day alone. 

The rest of the afternoon’s a whirlwind as Zayn’s being pulled in a million different directions for interviews, luckily having Camden to push a majority of them to the next few days rather than having them all be conducted in a span of four or five hours back to back to back. 

It means Zayn’s got the evening to spend with those close to him, the whole team joining him and his family for dinner at a hole in the wall ramen place that he insists they go to over any fancy, private room in a five star restaurant that Harry could charm his way onto the guestlist for. Bodies falling out of their rickety chairs from too much laughter and sake - that’s what Zayn was about. It’s the feeling he used to get when his family would save up and dine out once a month at the curry shop down the street from their house, enjoying each other’s company through the food, even though they all knew that nothing they ate could come close to what Zayn’s Mum could prepare on any given night of the week. These people _were_ his home, team newcomers included; the place didn’t matter. 

In addition to already being the chillest parents on the planet, Zayn thinks the two adults tell him to go off and have fun at the after party with his sisters instead of insisting he spend more time with them because they felt that familiar spark too. 

“You knew they were coming, didn’t you?” 

Louis rattles off their extensive order to the bartender, turning to Zayn when the man goes to work. “Might’ve helped with the arrangements…” The older boy’s got a sneaky smile on his lips, a look that Zayn’s more than familiar with. It’s one he usually associates with mischief, but in this case, what the man’s pulled off was nothing of the sort. There’s no need to talk money, Zayn will surely pay him back later for however much it cost to make this surprise one of the best he’s ever gotten. 

It helped that Louis’ sisters were still in the city, able to hang out with Zayn’s when they needed time away from their parents. The group of girls are stood around Harry and Liam near the middle of the room, Niall popping in and out of the bunch throughout the night with the brunette that Louis had bet him against. Turns out the party was open bar, but Zayn would put money on Niall redeeming his pint when they got back home. 

“Think they liked Liam,” Louis comments as he takes up the same position Zayn’s in, body supported by both forearms pressed up against the counter. 

Rewind to that afternoon when Liam introduced himself to Zayn’s family in the team room, doling out polite handshakes and his award winning smile. They all took notice of his manners, but it was Zayn’s Father who was the most outspoken, giving his son a thumbs up and thumbs down sign when the physio accepted the hug the oldest Malik woman insisted on. A blush crept up on Zayn’s cheeks from the blatant code for if he was Zayn’s type or not, the man signaling back a small thumbs up at his side in case Liam turned around and he needed to hide the gesture quickly. 

“What’s not to like?” Zayn feels himself smile when he sees Liam break into hysterics at something Harry’s said, eyes slitted from how bellowing his laugh is. 

“So there’s potential?” 

Tearing his eyes away from the heart warming sight, Zayn looks at Louis, seeing that some of the drinks have already been laid out on the bar. “That’s up to him.” 

“Well you know my vote,” Louis replies, hands full with as many glasses as he can carry. As he makes his way through the crowd, watching out so the drinks don’t spill, Liam walks up to take his place. 

“Do you need help?” The male asks considerately, staring at the leftover orders that Louis couldn’t handle. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Zayn answers, counting the drinks. “There’re still a few left, though.” 

From what he can tell, they’re still missing a gin and tonic and Safaa’s coke. She’s just barely missed the legal drinking age, and while he’s already snuck her a mojito, he’s not about to have his parents yell at him for getting their youngest drunk in a country where she could get in trouble for it. 

Pointing to the group, Liam says, “Your sisters are great.” 

If only he knew them about ten years ago when all they’d do is fight and leave the house quaking with door slams. “They’re a lot better now that we’re all older,” Zayn responds with a pang of nostalgia. 

“Managed to get Waliyha to show me a few pictures she has of you as a teen, so now we’re even.” 

Liam’s being kind, Zayn knows that the girl was probably begging to show him the second Zayn wasn’t around to tell her off for it, he didn’t need to ask. 

“Your Mum still owes me more for when I get my scan. Don’t think that’s going away just because you saw me before my voice broke.” Zayn’s words are laced with humour, but he hopes the other notices his admittance to being examined instead of his usual consideration commentary. 

“I’ve got a lot worse than a Green Lantern Halloween costume, so you’ll get your time’s worth,” Liam counters, turning to balance four glasses between his large hands, leaving Zayn alone at the bar with only two drinks. 

Rather than frowning at Liam not splitting the six with him, Zayn sends a glare towards his sister at the specific picture being mentioned. She’s not paying attention to him, but Zayn’s glad she’s not, because the vengeful glare would most likely only boost her ego, seeing that she could rile her brother up from something so simple. 

Taking the last two drinks, Zayn thanks the bartender and goes back to the group, handing Safaa her coke and letting himself take a long drink of the whiskey he’s ordered for him and Liam. Even if the night was devoid of liquid courage, Zayn’s high from winning could’ve been enough on its own to get him out dancing as much as he did. 

At one point Zayn finds himself atop the DJ booth, Liam and much of the audience taking pictures as the man in charge lets him take control for a few songs. With Japense bourbon coursing through him, Zayn achieves just the right amount of tipsy to lose himself in the music, but not enough to keep him from being able to get his sisters back to their hotel safely. 

All four of them huddle into the suite’s couch area, too full of life and adventure to go to bed yet, regardless of the early morning hour. There’s a ten year age difference between all of them, something that had greatly affected the siblings in their closeness growing up. Yet sitting around the hotel room with all three of them instead of just Doniya, who he was closest to, Zayn feels at peace with how things have panned out. 

**Competition Day: -1**

The older he gets, the more things Zayn finds himself growing into. Early mornings has not been one of them. 

Thank god for Niall though. The boy’s at the ready outside his sisters’ room with a change of clothes for him the next day when he finds out that Zayn hadn’t spent the night at the Village. He’s grateful for an outfit to change into, but he’s more thankful for the fact that he’s up earlier than any of his sister’s, and therefore gets to avoid the hecticness of four Malik’s versus one bathroom. 

He doubts any of his immediate family catches him on the Japanese morning shows that he stops by, the hour still too early for just about everyone he knows in town except maybe Liam. The british ones that he sits in for right before lunch on the other hand, he knows his extended family will be recording and replaying over and over again as soon as the satellite video of him cuts off. 

In fact, he hears all about what his relatives back home have to say about his multiple English interviews at lunch, when he meets up with his family. The texts keep rolling through into the afternoon when his sisters start their version of a Japanese pub crawl, except minus the alcohol, and add the unique animals. At the mention of cats, Harry drags Louis along with them to the first cafe, Niall sitting out at the Nikon store until they get to the hedgehog lounge. 

“Where’s Liam?” Safaa asks curiously as they sip their matcha teas around a pink table that matches the pastel colour theme of the cafe. 

“Some workshop on hamstring something or other,” Zayn replies, twirling around a stick that has a feather at the end, three calico’s studying the movements on the floor, their heads whipping back and forth in time with the faux prey. “Dunno any of that world.” All he‘s privy to is what Liam had briefly told him about, which was pretty much only that another country’s head physio was giving a speech on the specific anatomy. He didn’t even know those sorts of things happened at the Olympics, much less what they entailed. 

“That’s what you get for not finishing school,” Waliyha jeers, openly not playing nice. 

The middle cat pounces at the feather when Zayn stops his motions, narrowing his eyes at the girl, “I finished.” 

Waliyha raises her right brow, “You did the bare minimum.” 

Right as Zayn’s about to open his mouth, his Mother shuts him down. “You two, please.” The male’s bitter, but he obeys and goes back to the cats at his feet. “Speaking of Liam…” 

_Oh no…_

The older woman eyes her son from her cushioned seat against the wall that boasts a floor to ceiling mural of cats flying through a clouded sky. “He seems like a nice boy.” 

Zayn keeps his vision trained on the cats, in hopes that his casual nature will keep the subject from going any further, “He is, yeah.” 

“That’s it?” Zayn’s Dad laughs, his smile a near replica of the other man at the table. 

Seeing that this wasn’t disappearing like he wanted, Zayn lets the cats have the entire feather toy so he can lean back in his purple chair to face the rest of the Malik clan that’s waiting for an answer, each with various indulgent expressions. “What do you want me to say?” 

Waliyah’s smile turns into a smirk, “I’m sure Louis could spell it out for us.” 

Twisting his head, Zayn watches the boy mentioned feed kittens treats on a multi-leveled cat tree with Harry. “Yeah, probably against my wishes,” he grumbles, turning back to the table in front of him. “He’s become a good friend. We’ll see what happens when we get home.” 

The words aren’t a lie, that’s really what he thinks, and fortunately admitting that there’s _something_ there is enough for Zayn’s Mother to leave it at “as long as you’re happy, love.” 

His reply of “I am” isn’t necessary, Zayn knows that, and it’s probably only added fuel to the fire (Waliyah’s mostly, no doubt), but he can’t remember the last time he _was_ this happy. It’s not just from the win either, it’s from his general place in life at the moment, and that includes the man beaming at him from behind his bedroom door later that night. 

“No late night excursions?” Liam teases, the skater standing in front of him alone the only answer he really needed. 

“Between you and my sisters,” Zayn starts with a worn out tone. “I’ve had enough Instagram cafes to last a lifetime.” 

The door opens wider for Zayn to come in, Liam’s grin staying put, “You enjoyed yourself though?” 

“Yeah.” Passing through the threshold, Zayn makes his way to the male’s bed like it was his own. “I mostly just went to spend time with them and my parents more so than to make sure I got photographed with owl droppings on my hand.” 

“You went to the owl cafe?” Liam’s voice is full of jealousy and his big eyes punch Zayn in the gut. 

“I didn’t see it on your list!” He defends in a rush, stopping in between the two beds and turning to look at the other before sitting down. “It wasn’t that great, don’t worry.” 

Zayn’s reassurance barely improves Liam’s mood. “At least you didn’t go to the hedgehog one.” The skater stays quiet, the silence and boy’s rigid body making Liam pull an even worse pout. “You went to the hedgehog cafe!?” 

“I’m sorry!” The exclamation just comes out. Zayn’s not even sure what he’s apologizing for, Liam was busy, and even if he hadn’t been, Zayn technically wasn’t in the wrong for going out with his family. Yet, the kicked puppy look on the grown man’s face still makes Zayn’s insides wring. “I’ll text you if we do anything exciting tomorrow, yeah?” 

Liam shakes his head and joins Zayn on the bed, “It’s ok, don’t feel obligated. I get wanting to be alone with them.” 

Knowing it would only add insult to injury, Zayn doesn’t mention that the others tagged along for select cafes. “We’ll play it by ear,” he settles on, laying back on the mattress like always. “So, how was the workshop?” 

“Informative.” As if on cue, Liam situates himself cross legged at Zayn’s side. “Good opportunity to network.” He frowns slightly, “even though basically everyone’s outside of England. But still, it was nice to hear from experts on things that I don’t have a lot of experience on, outside of the classroom.” 

Not sure what to say since he’s clueless about that world and doesn’t want to make a fool of himself, Zayn replies with a mellow “cool”, even though he’s more than sure Liam wouldn’t ridicule him even if he did try and speak more about the matter. 

Such a short response doesn’t seem to upset Liam as he takes note of their positioning. “Do you want a massage?” 

Zayn’s head moves back in surprise at the ask, “Right now?” 

“Let me check the lobby.” Peering into the hallway leading to the front door, Liam pretends like he’s examining the area. “Looks like you’re in luck,” he relays, staring back at Zayn. “I’m free.” 

Endeared by the other’s humour, Zayn grins and motions an open palm towards his knee. “Have at it.” 

Other than the minor cafe debacle, Liam has no idea that Zayn hasn’t skated today. After being called out for claiming more massages than necessary, he would’ve assumed that now that the competition’s over, rub downs wouldn’t be given as generously. He definitely didn't think that they’d just be _handed_ over. 

“Louis at Harry’s tonight?” Liam inquires, leaning forward so he can comfortably reach the inner part of the leg. 

“Do you need me to answer that?” Zayn speaks with a comical tone, “Now that I’ve won, I doubt I’ll see him until the closing ceremony.” 

Gripping the upper portion of the calf, Liam continues with his questions. “Has he said what their plans are? After this? Or was it just a summer love sort of thing?” 

“Knowing Louis, I’d usually say the latter, but this time I’m not so sure. I’ve never seen him this hung up on someone without stringing them along for the chase first.” Zayn lets his head fall to his shoulder as he studies Liam work, “He gave in three months sooner than normal.” 

There’s fixation in Zayn’s eyes at how natural the movements are for Liam’s hands, how they still manage to give him relief in places he didn’t know he needed it, all while holding a conversation. 

“What about you?” Snapping out his thoughts, Zayn looks up at Liam’s question. “Are you the chase type?” 

Like his fingers, Liam’s transition is smooth. “It’s fun, but I’ve had way too many experiences to know how messy it can get.” Zayn thinks back to the time he outrightly acknowledged the spark between them during their first night of dancing when he says, “I’d much rather just lay things out on the table.” 

“So no games…” 

“Nah.” With the other’s eyes cast downward towards his leg, Zayn can’t tell what’s going through Liam’s head. “I can’t see you being into dramatics either,” he guesses, though it’s more of a declaration since Zayn likes to think he knows the man well enough by now to be able to pick up on that sort of thing himself. 

“Definitely not one of my surprises.” A few squeezes are administered to the underside of Zayn’s knee. “No soreness from yesterday, right?” 

The older man resists the urge to bend his leg after the points of pressure were made. “Don’t you think I would’ve told you by now?” 

“No.” 

Liam’s firm answer has Zayn smirking, making it obvious he’s not the only one who’s confident in their guessing ability. “It’s fine, competition went smoothly, so there’s no reason it shouldn’t be.” 

“I know I keep saying it,” Liam begins with an apologetic tone, “but you were incredible.” 

He can hear it a million times, probably has in the past twenty four hours, but the compliment still makes Zayn dip his head in shyness. “Thank you.” 

“You know I was wondering…” Liam’s curiosity has Zayn raising his eyebrows in suspense at what was to follow. “What song were you listening to when you went last?” 

Eyebrows drop to a softened expression. “Light Me Up. I recognized Miguel, but I hadn’t ever heard it before.” 

Now that he has the information he wants, Liam nods with a pleased demeanor. The air around him almost makes Zayn ask how the man was able to put something together that was so perfect, so quickly, but he decides against it. 

“You know, now you can put on your CV that you’ve worked on a gold medalist.” The statement is the closest Zayn would ever get to bragging. “Maybe that’ll help you on your quest to getting out of the ‘kid zone’ by the time you turn thirty.” 

“Maybe.” Doubt was all Zayn could hear in the other’s voice. It almost causes him to interject, but he holds himself back for a second time. “But you didn’t require too much,” Liam adds. “If you don’t count an unnecessary amount of massages.” 

“Hey,” all signs of Zayn’s sympathy went out the window when he heard the mockery. “You offered this one.” 

Finally, Liam glances up at the man, lips curled up and bright eyes telling Zayn that the words were meant in good fun. “I’m joking.” Looking between Zayn’s eyes, he searches for any indication things aren’t still screwing with him upstairs. “You’re good otherwise too?” 

“Yeah, you saw the worst of it yesterday.” Flashbacks of Liam walking into the beginning stages of a panic attack the day before make their way to the front of Zayn’s mind. “I’m back to normal now.” 

Liam doesn’t seem to be fully satisfied with what he’s hearing, but he still acknowledges the positive news with a solid, “Good.” Hands stop their movements and return back to Liam’s lap. “Since you didn’t put any strain on it today, I think that’s good. My next client’s here.” 

Stretching forward, Zayn peers into the hallway and nods, “Right, thanks for squeezing me in.” 

“Of course.” Liam’s licking his lips in amusement at the boy going along with his made up scenario. “Sorry it couldn’t have been more in depth, but I did what I could with the jeans.” 

Zayn’s forehead wrinkles when it occurs to him that, _oh yeah, there’s usually no material in the way when they do this_. He wonders why Liam didn’t ask him to take the trousers off, since it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve seen each other in their pants, but once more, he keeps his mouth shut on that rumination. “It was on short notice, it’s ok.” 

Mid reach to get up and leave, Liam grabs Zayn’s wrist. “You don’t really have to go, I’m just playing.” 

Zayn can see in the way Liam keeps his hold on Zayn’s wrist and the desperation in his voice, that the male means what he says. At the same time, if he stays any longer, he doesn’t have to guess that it’ll be a lot harder to leave than if he just does now. “I know, but it’s getting late and my body would probably appreciate it if I caught up on the hundreds of hours of sleep that I owe it.” Still not lying. 

Liam drops the other’s hand and accepts the excuse for what it is, “I’m sure it would like that.” 

Crawling off the bed, Zayn looks over his shoulder before he disappears out of Liam’s line of sight down the hallway. “I’ll text you tomorrow, yeah?” 

At the promise, Liam nods, comforted. “Yeah, night.” 

“Night,” Zayn returns, padding down the short entranceway and out the door. 

He’s only been in his room for thirty seconds tops when he hears a knock at his door. Finishing emptying his pockets onto the dresser, Zayn goes back to open it, but can’t find the words to say when he’s face to face with the boy he’s just left. 

“Are you really going to bed?” Liam asks, hand going up and rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Not this second,” Zayn answers, eyes scrutinizing the person in front of him to try and figure out what he’s getting at. “But soon, why?” 

“Can I come with you?” Now Zayn’s really confused, and it must show, because Liam drops his hand from his neck and down to his shoulder before clarifying his wishes. “I cancelled the rest of my appointments for the night. I feel bad for not giving you the quality massage you normally get. I pride myself on my job, as you know, and I hate thinking that I haven’t lived up to my high standards.” 

Liam looks both eager, and cautious at being so bold. As Zayn let the words sink in, he thinks he’s getting what the man’s putting down with his stratagem, but he needs more to confirm his conclusion, because that’s not something he wants to have misinterpreted. 

“I’ll write a good review, don’t worry.” In Zayn’s eyes, the words are a safe test that puts the ball back in Liam’s court to either hit back, or pocket. 

“Let me make it up to you.” Liam’s hand drops back down to his side, the man licking his lips with intention. “My premium service. On the house.” He gives Zayn a once over before starting to impose his way into the room. 

Rather than keep their distance and step back when Liam moves forward, Zayn stays in his spot. “What’s that include?” 

The door closes behind the seductive male. “Let me show you.” 

For once, Zayn’s heart starts to speed up from something other than anxiety. He hadn’t seen this coming, not by a long shot, and while he thought of himself as a confident guy, Zayn loses his bearings as soon as Liam reaches forward and pulls him in by the back of the neck. 

He might not have anticipated the advance, but Zayn can’t say he’s all that surprised when he feels the physical chemistry they have as soon as Liam’s lips meet his. Instinctively his hands find the man’s hips, trailing down his ribs to appreciate the frame before they take purchase on the area above the black jogger’s band. 

Zayn lets Liam take the lead, walking backwards as soon as he feels the male start to put pressure on him to get them out of the room’s inlet and onto the bed. He wouldn’t have minded taking his time using the wall, see if Liam’s arms are as strong as they make themselves out to be, but he’d have to hold off on that fantasy. 

What pace Liam wants to set, Zayn’s not sure. He was the one who initiated all of this afterall, so the skater was going to do whatever he said, especially since he was also the one who had concerns about crossing the invisible work relationship boundary. 

_So much for that_ , Zayn thinks as soon as he stumbles onto the mattress, Liam crashing down with him, but breaking the fall with hands on either side of Zayn’s head, careful not to crush the smaller boy. From the swift catch, Zayn can confirm that, yeah, the arms are everything they appear. 

Like he had with him, Zayn cups the back of Liam’s neck with his right hand and pulls, so that their lips don’t need to be alone. Luckily they’re on the same page and neither one is licking into the other’s mouth just yet. They’ll get there, but first Zayn wants to _feel_. 

His left hand softly moves from the bottom of Liam’s right shoulder blade where Zayn gripped when the male fell, down to his front hip bone. The slack of Liam’s grey t-shirt drapes down between their two bodies, allowing for Zayn to slip his hand up underneath the pocket and finally put a feeling to the image he’s had imprinted in his mind since their cryo experience almost a week ago. 

When Zayn’s fingertips ghost over the indents in the center of Liam’s stomach, the man bites down on his bottom lip. Based on that reaction he’s not sure if that means that Liam likes the gentle touch, or wants him to explore with more firm of contact, so Zayn takes a middle of the road approach and allows his right hand to join on the opposite side of the physio’s torso. The muscles protrude Liam’s skin from the push up position he’s put himself in, and while Zayn’s still managing to reciprocate the kisses being administered by the man, his head’s channeling his sense of touch and memorizing the mixture of soft versus rough. 

Finding it difficult for Liam’s shirt to not get in the way of their liplock, Zayn pushes up on Liam’s chest powerfully. As soon as the other’s looking at him with a borderline hurt expression, Zayn takes his own shirt off to show that he wants Liam to follow, not that the past couple minutes have been enough to realize that this was a bad idea. How Liam could think that of him, Zayn didn’t know. He was entering heaven, surely. 

Leaning back on his forearms, he takes in Liam’s shirtless body, jogger’s hanging dangerously low. They leave no room for imagination on what underwear he’s sporting, the black Hugo Boss name imprinted around the man’s hips all Zayn needs to see to have him sitting up on the edge of the bed and attaching his lips to the chiseled abs staring back at him. 

Liam’s hands fall onto Zayn’s shoulders, gripping the skin there as he feels the small bites and successive licks being given. It’s far too perfect of a vantage point for Zayn to _not_ take advantage of what’s literally in front of him, so he hooks his fingers into the cotton and pulls down the bottoms, until all he’s left with is a prominent outline hidden in black. 

Right as Zayn’s about to reveal the prize, he’s shoved back onto the mattress. 

“You’re going too fast,” Liam scolds, his voice low in a way that Zayn hasn’t heard before, though he prays it won’t be the last time he does. Stepping out of his socks and shoes, along with the sweats around his ankles, Liam leans down to pull off Zayn’s trainers as well. “And we’re not even.” 

From this angle Zayn studies how Liam’s abs are shown off even more by his crouching; it’s all his eyes pay attention to. “Sex isn’t always even you know.” 

Once the words are out of Zayn’s mouth, Liam tilts his head up from where he was peeling a sock off, eyes burning into Zayn’s with an intensity that, again, the older male is dying to never get rid of. “It is with me,” he growls, not wasting any time to take his spot back above the athlete, except instead of his lips joining Zayn’s, they miss the mark and trail down from the corner of his mouth to his neck. 

With his heart beating erratically, Zayn wonders if Liam can feel the pulses now that the man’s tongue is licking a stripe down his jugular. If he does, he doesn’t say a word, simply winds his way towards Zayn’s collarbone, only stopping to sink his teeth down into a portion of inked feathers before his tongue continues down Zayn’s chest. 

Closing his eyes, Zayn lets his head rest against the bed, fingers curling into the comforter at his side. The darkness behind his lids allows for him to focus on the patterns that Liam’s tongue is making against his abs, tracing the lines, and fuck all embarrassment, Zayn clenches his stomach to make the cuts stand out even more for the man. He can tell Liam notices too, pausing briefly to bite into skin, though from Zayn’s thin build there’s hardly any fat for teeth to grab hold of. 

As the physio reaches his navel, Zayn recalls Liam’s love for the two curves on either side of his hips and isn’t at all surprised when he feels Liam take his time licking each, sucking on the bottom of the left for a good few seconds before moving on. 

Nimble fingers undo the jean button and zipper, Zayn’s hips canting upwards to help Liam slip the garment off him. Liam wants even? Now they’re even. 

Opening his eyes, Zayn looks down his body, expecting to see Liam bending back to press their bodies together, but instead, he’s standing tall and admiring Zayn’s body from above. His eyes are drinking in the countless hours of tattoo work, not knowing which image to stop on before moving to the defined abdomen that also didn’t happen overnight, but rather originated from discipline, with a helping hand from Zayn’s record metabolism and below average appetite. 

He’s past the point of being shy during foreplay, has outgrown that long ago, but Zayn can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like he was...not just an in shape athlete. Of course Liam was turned on by his figure, that much was more than apparent, but there was something more there - as if he was using the display to discover more about who Zayn _was_ , rather than pinpoint where he was going to scratch him up. It was refreshing, and if Zayn did get bashful easily, he’d definitely be blushing. 

“Do you have stuff?” Liam asks, breaking the silence. “If not, I do and I could go grab it.” 

Licking his lips, Zayn bites back his smile. “What happened to not taking things too fast?” Like the tease that he was, the man reaches down and squeezes himself through his boxer briefs to show Liam that if he wanted to go quick, all he had to do was say so, but he shouldn’t mess with Zayn by telling him no like he had minutes prior. Contradicting himself could get Liam in trouble. 

Immediately Liam’s eyes drop down to Zayn’s grip. “I wasn’t, I just…” He trails off when he sees Zayn tilt his head back against the mattress, teeth digging into his bottom lip at the relief he’s giving himself. “God you’re gorgeous.” 

Zayn can feel the power start to switch the more time goes by, and he can’t deny how much he loves being responsible for making Liam lose his train of thought just by laying there. “It’s all yours. Don’t know what you’re stalling for.” 

For a second it looks like Liam’s going to give in, but he grabs hold of his right mind and takes a step back from the bed. “We’re going to get caught up and I don’t want to have to leave you during.” No explanation is needed after that, Zayn gets what Liam’s trying to say, and he’s smart. It’s frustrating that he is, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“I have some,” he informs the other, letting up on his show and standing up in front of Liam. “Get comfortable.” A soft kiss follows the whisper before Zayn walks off into the bathroom to dig through his shaving bag for his stash of lube and a condom. 

When he walks back into the room, he nearly drops the bottle as soon as he sees that Liam’s made himself comfortable alright, top of the bed, hand wrapped around his cock comfortable. 

Zayn’s about to ask him how he managed to go from thoughtful to sultry in the time it took for him to pop into the bathroom, but Liam beats him to it with a challenging, “I told you I play even” that makes Zayn throw all caution to the wind. 

Transferring the condom into his left hand, Zayn uses his right to shove down his last remaining piece of clothing as he walks towards the bed, kicking them off at the same time as he tosses what’s in his hand next to Liam’s body. 

Their slow pace was no more. Climbing onto the bed, Zayn ignores the way Liam stares at his hard on, straddling the man’s waist and kissing him with urgency instead. Both moan into one another’s mouth at the feeling of warmth being exchanged between their bodies and the sensation of Zayn’s cock pressing down into Liam’s. 

Like hell he was keeping things calm after that type of pleasure. Over and over Zayn drove his hips into Liam’s, yearning to hear the other whimper and tell him how good he felt, but that wasn’t what he got. Instead, he felt a strong arm pull him down onto Liam’s chest, anchoring him there before rolling them over into opposite perspectives. 

Once Zayn experienced such a display of strength and power from Liam, his need was kicked into overdrive. Blunt nails scratch down Liam’s back, causing the man to hiss in pain filled pleasure and drive his hips down exceptionally hard in retaliation. Ripping his lips away from Zayn’s, his eyes find the discarded bottle. 

An excited sort of nerves start to form in Zayn’s stomach as soon as he feels Liam’s coated fingers start to enter him. It had been a while since he was in this position, but that didn’t mean he was scared, just needed to take some extra time to adjust before the intrusion felt less foreign and more obligatory. 

All it took was a third finger for the fullness to cause Zayn to sigh in ecstasy. His head thrashed to the side of the pillow, when Liam took the sound as a sign he could push harder. “I’m good Liam, please.” Desperate wasn’t even something Zayn cared about coming across as, it was exactly how he felt. If Liam wanted to mock him for it, then so be it, as long as Zayn could feel the soreness in the morning, that was all that mattered. 

Obeying orders, the man removes his fingers and uses them to open the latex, rolling it on himself hastily. He lines himself up, but before he pushes in, he looks up for permission from Zayn, and if Zayn doesn’t think this guy’s losing his virginity at age sixteen. Pulling Liam closer by the side of his ribs, Zayn nearly does the thing for him, but the younger man gets the hint and slowly slides himself in. 

Zayn practically loses his breath at the sensation of how Liam’s thickness stretches him out in comparison to his fingers. By the way Liam drapes himself over Zayn’s body, forehead dropping down to his shoulder, Zayn thinks he feels the same way. The close proximity allows for Zayn to not only hold on to Liam tighter, but also let him hear the small noises that leave Liam’s lips in between his staggered breathing. 

Spreading his legs wider has Zayn letting out his own groan at how much deeper Liam’s able to go because of it. He’s panting in Liam’s ear, licking and nibbling at his lobe, which only seems to spur Liam to move faster, leaving both of them whining in pleasure. Lifting his head from its place against Zayn’s frame, Liam leans his whole upper body back into an upright position. He goes to grab one of Zayn’s legs, to try a new angle Zayn’s sure, but that’s not a part of the athlete’s plans tonight. 

Instead, he pulls at Liam’s right arm to get him to lose balance and understand what he wants. Thankfully the male takes the hint, pulling out and trading places with Zayn so that he’s the one laying back against the pillows. 

Without any hesitation, Zayn places a leg on either side of Liam’s body and feels behind to guide himself back down onto the man’s awaiting member. The more he takes, the farther Zayn’s head falls back, lips parted at the overwhelming feeling Liam’s giving him. He comes back down to earth when he feels two hands find their way onto his side, gently gripping what’s there. 

Zayn flattens his palms on Liam’s chest and starts to lift himself up and down. “Be careful with your knee,” Liam warns with eyes screwed shut and a clenched jaw that told Zayn even though the man cared about his well being, he also didn’t want him to stop. It was another moment that showed Liam’s true character, and while he twisted his hips at a degree that had him stifling a guttural moan, Zayn took note of the sentiment. 

Liam’s grip tightens when Zayn swivels once more, his hips meeting the other’s halfway, a move that has Zayn almost collapsing onto Liam’s chest from how amazing it feels - his strength, the masculinity behind his power, all of it. Liam must be able to tell, since he wraps an arm around Zayn’s back and starts to do all of the work from below. 

His own cock’s trapped between their bodies, but Zayn only cares about how Liam’s slamming into him at a more frantic pace than before. Each thrust has Zayn biting his lower lip harder, small sounds of pleasure falling from his mouth that act as Liam’s motivator to get them both to the edge. 

Zayn’s eyes open, having closed from being pleasantly overwhelmed with too many different nerve endings being stimulated, when he hears Liam start to lose a hold on his voice. He’s cursing left and right, eyes squeezed shut in concentration at chasing the release his body craves. Zayn wants to lean forward, bite down on his neck and lick it better to get him there, but the promise of getting to _see_ what Liam looks like when he comes, has him staying put. And it does **_not_** disappoint. 

Liam clenches his jaw as he snaps his hips up one last time before he’s coming, a strangled, high pitched cry staying in his throat, but loud enough that Zayn’s storing the memory away for the next time he needs to take care of himself. 

He’s not completely preoccupied with the sight below him though, the last thrust hitting the right spot inside Zayn that makes him release his own sob of euphoria. Out of nowhere he feels a hand on him, causing him to buck forward, the touch after all this time feeling nothing short of incredible. “Liam,” Zayn sighs out, the name spilling from his lips like a mantra that only has the named man quickening his pace to get Zayn to the same blissed out state he was in. It works too, because in less than a minute Zayn’s spilling onto Liam’s chest, as well as letting out a raspy moan that continues even after he’s finished. 

“Are you ok?” Liam asks as he catches his breath, which doesn’t take long considering the endurance he’s built up from running. 

Nodding, Zayn lets himself recuperate from the high, staying with Liam inside him for a few more moments before lazily falling next to the man on the bed. 

Liam lets his left, clean hand, lace with Zayn’s right as they lay together in silence, a quiet that doesn’t need to be filled by anything other than their steadying heartbeats. 

“Do you wanna take a shower?” 

Zayn’s head rolls over to look at Liam, grinning lightly when he sees how exhausted the man looks. It’s a soft sort of expression that has the skater pulling his hand away and using it to scratch at the man’s short beard. Cupping Liam’s cheek, he places a simple kiss to the man’s lips and whispers a tiny “yeah” in response. 

At one point when Liam’s trying to wash his hair, he reprimands Zayn for not cleaning himself, just spending the time pressing kisses to the back of his shoulders and neck. But Zayn can’t help it. He’ll get to the soap part of the shower eventually, but he wants to appreciate the burly man that’s occupying the tight space with him, and his soft skin. 

Even when they’re under the covers and Liam’s turning on the diffuser, lavender drifting through the air, Zayn still drops kisses onto his chest, which is acting as Zayn’s pillow for the night. He just _really_ can’t help it. 

**Competition Day: -2**

Tired eyes squint in the dark room, brought awake by a blaring alarm somewhere near. 

They close again once Zayn’s managed to locate his phone and turn the bloody sound that’s meant to get him up in time to meet his family for breakfast, off. He’s not sure if the two haven’t moved all night, or if he’s just found his way back to the position he was in when he drifted off ten hours ago. What Zayn _does_ know is that the hard body was still adversely soft enough for him to snuggle closer to. “They can eat without me,” he mumbles into the man’s warm chest when he feels Liam start to stir. 

“You’ll regret it later.” Zayn highly doubts that. “Come on.” Languid kisses are being placed to his head as Liam sits up. 

“If this is your way of getting me _out_ of bed,” he protests stubbornly. “I think you need to re-evaluate your tactics.” 

“Would you rather I just leave?” Even though Liam’s tone isn’t serious, he still starts to slip out of the bed and away from Zayn’s grasp. 

Petulant, the sleepy male pulls Liam back towards him. “No, Leeyum, please.” 

From the smug look on Liam’s face, Zayn doesn’t think it’s his grip that has the male leaning back into his previous space. “I could get used to hearing you say that,” he says into Zayn’s ear, biting down on the lobe after. 

The feeling of Liam’s beard against his turns Zayn on just as much as the words. Nudging the other’s cheek, Zayn gets Liam to pull away enough for him to capture his lips with his own. When they part, he whispers, “play your cards right, and that won’t be a problem.” 

With Liam being as responsible as he is, all he can do to ensure the skater’s not late is to give him another sultry kiss, leaving the next occasion as a mystery. While they’re putting on their clothes, Zayn a fresh outfit and Liam the same from the day before, the athlete wonders more about when that might be. Although standing in front of Liam’s door, Zayn’s more concerned with how they’re meant to act around each other now that they’ve just spent the night together, than if it’ll happen again. 

“I’ll text you later,” he promises with both hands in his trouser pockets. 

Liam refrains from unlocking his door with the code just yet, “Ok, but don’t feel pressure.” 

It was an easy out for Zayn to take, he recognizes that, but what Liam didn’t realize was that Zayn wasn’t an empty promises sort of guy, didn’t say things just to say them. Which meant Liam was getting the message. 

“I’ll text you later,” he reaffirms, smiling at the man and walking off in the direction of the lift to avoid any awkward morning after goodbye hug or kiss or whatever people did. Pushing the button for the ground floor, Zayn’s not sure if it was the right move considering how cordial Liam was as a person, but he tries not to over think it as he steps into the mirror lined space. 

Like Liam had predicted, he’s glad he didn’t miss out on breakfast, but he’s more than ok with having to take a few phone interviews in the afternoon while his sisters fawn over beauty supplies and makeup. Ducking in and out of alleys to take the calls was easy, it was the getting recognized thing that Zayn found harder now that he had won. People picked up on him here or there, but it was usually the skater crowd, and they were practically the chillest group on earth, so the five or ten minute stops from the general population wanting pictures was new to the athlete. 

What felt even weirder was the fact that Zayn hadn’t even been on a board in two days. Had it not been for the activities of last night and getting one of the best night's sleep in months, Zayn probably would’ve gone out that morning for a quick ride. He thinks last night was worth it. 

At dinner, his Dad gives a speech on how proud he is of Zayn, which brings everyone to tears, Zayn included. Skateboarding wasn’t the traditional career that a parent would envision for their child and Zayn knew that early on. When other kids were studying diligently for their exams, Zayn was only doing what he needed to get by, any free time outside of that dedicated to perfecting his craft. Clearly it paid off, but none of them knew that back then. For all they knew, Zayn could’ve crashed and burned, quite literally. To support their child as much as they had, their bisexual child at that, was a miracle in Zayn’s eyes. He couldn’t have asked for a better support system. 

On the train ride back to their hotel, Zayn pulls out his phone and shoots Liam a quick text. 

**Where you at?**

**Skytree, where r u?**

**On train back to fams hotel. Are you staying out?**

**Yeah, u should meet me.**

After figuring out how long it will take to get to the pin Liam’s dropped from the hotel, Zayn types back his response. 

**Gonna make sure they get in ok first, stay there**

**Don’t rush**

Even though Liam’s not there to witness it, he still rolls his eyes at the comment before putting his phone away for the rest of the ride. In fact, he doesn’t take it out again until he’s checking the metro line he needs to take, and then once more when he’s comparing his location to where Liam’s pin was. 

“This seat taken?” 

Liam looks up from his place on the bench, smile reaching his ears when he sees who’s addressing him. “No, but there’s something nearby that I want to check off my list and I need someone to go with me.” 

Zayn’s curiosity is piqued as he follows Liam, whos now got his phone out to give them walking directions to the set location. “What is it?” 

Side eyeing him, grin still present, Liam replies, “You’ll see.” 

\-- 

“No.” 

“Zayn…” Liam whines at the same time as he gives the world’s most convincing puppy dog pout. 

But Zayn’s not buying it. “No,” he repeats firmly, staring at the neon sign displaying the words 'karaoke bar’ with disgust. 

“They’re private rooms,” Liam explains desperately, eyes still carrying a hint of sympathy. “No one’s going to hear you except me.” 

It’s still relatively hot out, but Zayn crosses his arms over his chest as if he needed to warm his body. He looks from the boy, to the sign, and then back to the boy. “Why do you want to do this?” 

Liam can see that there’s a crack to Zayn’s facade starting to show, but he’s not fully confident that he’s won just yet. “Cultural, remember?” 

Zayn snorts, “I can buy you a karaoke machine at ASDA when we get back to London, there’s nothing cultural about lip singing.” 

“Please?” There’s a childish element to how Liam’s begging, but Zayn knows that after last night, the man’s not that at all. 

“When you told me about it the first time I said no then.” A couple comes out from the front door, causing Zayn to step to the side. “What makes you think I’ve changed my mind?” 

“It’s the last thing on my list,” Liam tries, eyes hopeful that that’ll seal the deal. 

Zayn’s hazel ones squint at the man. It doesn’t take a genius to see that Liam’s using the fact that they’ve grown closer, and that he’s _Liam,_ to his advantage. The answer might as well have been ‘ _because it’s for me_ ’. Either way, Zayn grumbles and opens the door for a victorious Liam to enter. 

True to his word, Liam rents them their own room, while Zayn takes care of the drinks. Almost as soon as they’re through the sliding door of the private area, Liam picks up the song catalogue and flops down on the couch to flip through it enthusiastically. Observing from the spot next to him, Zayn starts to drink his malt with the intention to loosen up as quick as possible. If he’s going to do this, he might as well throw himself into it, can’t be a stick in the mud. 

Liam ends up picking some wistful song from the 90’s, but Zayn wasn’t interested in the melody, or even in how good Liam’s voice sounded with the music. What he cares about is the male’s ability to liberate himself with no more than two quick sips of his drink; he hadn’t wanted to waste any of their time with anything other than singing since there was a clock ticking down on the reservation. Zayn’s got his arm around the couch as he sits back, admiring Liam for being so... _himself_. 

It’s how he spends the rest of their time when he’s not getting dragged to his feet to perform whichever R&B hits he knows the words to, smiling at Liam’s roar of applause for one. A few drinks in and he even lets Liam choose a duet for them to tackle, though Zayn stumbles through a few of his lyrics on more than one occasion, too distracted by the squinty eyed smile of the boy at his side, so it turns out to be a lot more Liam having to take over Zayn’s parts than a joint effort. 

The next time Liam’s soloing another rock anthem, Zayn gets a chance to reflect on how grateful he is that _this_ is the atmosphere he got to meet Liam in. He’s glad that the stars aligned and he got to meet him at all, but the past two weeks have given Zayn a chance to see several sides to the physio. Witnessing him in work mode was one thing, but Liam caught Zayn at a rare time when his performance anxiety made an appearance, bringing out the man’s almighty attribute of compassion. Then there was this version: the bewildered, caught in wonderment from experiencing something for the first time Liam. Zayn’s grown to realize that it’s very much a vital part to who the man is, and he doesn’t know how he got so lucky to be able to get all three in one right from the beginning. 

“See? That wasn’t so bad.” Liam skips the last step of the stoop when they’re exiting the bar. “I think you even had fun. Who would’ve thought?” 

Keeping to his disgruntled agreeance, Zayn responds with, “I did it to help you finish your list.” 

Liam nods, cognisant of what the other’s fighting. “Right, well I’m almost done, so thank you.” 

“You said that was the last thing!” In a second Zayn goes from too cool for school, to feeling betrayed. 

“I lied,” Liam smirks, the copy of his words a week ago making Zayn burn with frustration at having been the one to start this. 

In lieu of taking his rightful crown of vengeance, Zayn continues on with the harmless side of the conversation as they walk down the street. “What’s left?” 

“Samurai Museum.” 

Eyes wide in disbelief, Zayn gapes, “And you made me do _karaoke_?” 

“You can come to that too,” Liam offers kindly. “The closing ceremony’s not until the evening.” 

Taking a deep breath, Zayn thinks about the day ahead. “Might have to do a couple more interviews. And I haven’t gotten on a board since Friday, so I’ll probably bug Niall to go out for at least a couple hours. Knowing my sisters, they’ll take all day to get ready.” He shakes his head, “and I’m not about to sit around listening to them go on about hair curlers.” 

“Have you ever had them try one on you?” 

Zayn turns to Liam in horror, almost feeling his scalp burn at just the thought. “No…” 

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” the male warns with a distant look in his eye like he’s thinking back to the memories of what his older sister’s used to put him through. It dissipates as they’re crossing a random street and he’s asking Zayn another question. “Are you looking forward to going back to being a jetsetter?” 

He can’t help it when his shoulders rise in a small huff of a laugh hearing Liam make him out to be some sort of billionaire with his own private plane. “Next competition isn’t for another month, and believe it or not, it’s in London, so I’ll be home for a longer time than usual during competition season. Won’t need to fly out until the end of September.” 

“Where to?” 

“Australia,” Zayn answers plainly. “Do you want to come?” 

Double checking that he’s heard correctly, Liam looks for clarification. “To Australia?” 

This go around, Zayn laughs audibly, “‘S what I said, didn’t I?” 

Liam’s still not convinced, “But what about my job? 

“I’ll pay you.” Realizing how that sounds, Zayn hurries to elaborate on his words so Liam doesn’t think he’s is some sort of personal service Zayn thinks money can buy, and that Liam has no right to autonomy. “To be my physio, you know, not to like, just join. We’re never usually in a place as long as this for a contest. We’ll only be down there for like five days. I’m sure you can talk to your people and make it work.” 

“My people…” Liam chuckles at how Zayn’s clearly never had a proper employer in his life. “I’d love to, especially since we’ll have your MRI scan results by then and I can _actually_ have an idea as to what I’m working on.” Zayn’s lips snarl at the mention of pesky medical scans. “When do I have to let you know by?” 

For the umteenth time, Liam’s somehow managed to make a relaxed situation formal. Whether that’s a skill or a curse, Zayn can’t tell. “I just asked you about thirty seconds ago, so last minute things aren’t really an issue. We can share my room, so it’s not like any sort of arrangements would have to be made.” 

It occurs to him that Liam’s only known Zayn in the capacity of the exclusive set up they’re in now, when that wasn’t at all how he functioned day to day. For starters, he never had things handed to him like they were here. Even on the off chance that they were, Zayn barely took any of it; it wasn’t his style. But most importantly, he didn’t have this large entourage several people deep by his side. Any managerial sort of work that needed to be done was all Niall, so even though Zayn was more than grateful for what Camden had helped him with over the past year, he wouldn’t really be needing him anymore after this. Until maybe the time comes where he has to think about 2024, but that’s way too far in the future for Zayn to start worrying about. 

“It’ll just be Niall and I. It’s only a street competition, so Louis won’t be there.” Elbowing Liam’s side gently, Zayn raises his eyebrows, “And think about the surfing…” 

“You don’t have to try and convince me,” Liam smiles affectionately. “I was sold at ‘Australia’. I just have to see what work says.” 

He wishes Liam would’ve budged a little, let himself live in a world where rules were made to be broken every once and awhile, but it’s a start. Not wanting to push any further, Zayn lets his relaxed attitude reply with an easy, “Alright.” 

The sounds of passing cars fill the space between them before Liam speaks up. “So, I guess that means last night won’t be a one time thing…” 

He probably should, but Zayn doesn’t look up from staring at his shoes as they walk when he hears the reminder of Liam’s sporadic moments of straightforwardness. It only seems right that he answer by proving his belief of laying things out on the table to be true. “I was hoping not. Weren’t you?” 

Liam’s allowed to ‘be a good sports doctor’, but Zayn thinks that making a playlist for a moment he’ll never forget in his life is devoid of work related duties. Not to mention spending time together after a hookup reinforced the idea that Liam was up for activities _outside_ of the bedroom, now that that’s been built up to and done. 

The man shrugs calmly, “Didn’t want to assume that just because we’ve been flirting that you’d want something more.” 

“We’ve been flirting?” Finally Zayn sneaks a peak at Liam with a wide grin to show him he’s only kidding. “I do. I mean, no labels or anything out of the gate, but like, I want to see what happens.” 

The thing with him and Liam is that they’re not like Louis and Harry, they live in the same city; things could work. Zayn wonders what that would look like. Whose house they’d sleep at, the kinds of dates they’d go on. Would they make late night city walks their thing? Did Liam live in central London enough for that to happen because they sure couldn’t do it where he lived. He wonders what the man would think of his place and if he would ever advance past Zayn pushing him on a skateboard. Do more than just hang out in the warehouse and sit in the corner with the dj controls. Though Zayn would be content with that too. 

Hiding a shy smile, Liam nods at Zayn’s words, “Me too.” 

Right then, Zayn concludes that Liam fulfills a lot through unspokens: unspoken communication, listening, understanding. Everything that Zayn has always had trouble explaining - putting words to thoughts, or emotions about others, Liam _gets_. 

He loves how he can ask him to go to Australia without worrying about what the man will think of it being so easy for Zayn to do, or that his response didn’t have to do with them moving too fast, but instead how he’d be able to take time off work. He loves that he can grab Liam’s hand and the other’s conversation on what he’s looking forward to seeing at the samurai museum goes completely uninterrupted by the action, instead Liam changes the grip so that their fingers are interlaced. It’s a perfect example of what Liam meant by them experiencing feelings differently than the average person. Rather than second guessing his sensibilities, Liam allows himself to act unapologetically, not let his intense ability to feel be seen as intense at all, but normal. Because, if he wants to join Zayn in Australia and hold his hand in Japan, then he will. Why deny himself that? 

Zayn always found himself being perceived as one to roll with the punches, a ‘live in the moment’ type, but he’s not that, and neither is Liam, they just believe in whatever emotion they’re feeling, instead of question its authenticity or where its coming from, or even where it will lead them. To be able to find someone who lives their life the same way as him, and who could use an exes tattoo as an eloquent explanation for it, was Zayn’s needle in a haystack. 

**Competition Day: -3**

It’s the same thing going through Zayn’s head when he decides to get his own Olympic rings tattoo and Liam steals his phone to ask Harry if he can put in an appointment for him too. The only frustrating part is that he won't let Zayn in on what he plans on getting. Not after they’re through with the call, and not even as they walk from the metro to the tattoo shop post samurai museum. Eventually Zayn lets it go, knowing that Liam won’t be able to hide when he’s in Zayn’s current position getting inked. 

Pain from the needles was a welcoming sort of irritation nowadays, making it easy for Zayn to get lost in remembering how delightful it was to see Liam so animated at the museum. They nearly got told off for attempting to reenact a fight scene on display, but Liam whipped himself into shape just as the security guard rounded the corner, giggling at the close call, and again when Zayn’s making fun of what he’s going to look like coming back from this trip with a stuffed Pokémon and samurai sword letter opener. 

Based on Louis’ experience, Zayn knows that the piece on the inner part of his upper left arm won’t take long, but it’s nice to take a breather after an intense morning of skating around the outlying areas of the Village. Crowded parking lots, alleys, delivery spots behind businesses, they’re all quintessential forbidden skating territories, and they do get yelled at in Japanese quite a few times, but it’s a part of the game. You skate for five minutes, get eyed at for being mischievous, and then the store owners come out and tell you to scram. Or you’re really unlucky and you get an asshole cop threaten to fine you if you don’t pack up your things and leave. Zayn’s been getting it all since he can remember, but it’s still a treat every time he gets a new threat in a language other than English. 

When the buzzing stops, Zayn looks down to admire the rings and what they represent. He found out that they _literally_ represent each of the continents and the colours found on all the countries’ flags at the time of design when he did extensive research on what the Olympics entailed as soon as the skateboarding team was announced. Being a new sport, Zayn didn’t want to get his hopes up that Britain would pull through with funding for the team, but when you’ve birthed the World Street Champion and park Finalist, you _find_ funding. To Zayn, the rings meant a permanent reminder of what he had accomplished in his short time on earth, paving a path for generations to come in a sport that ran through his veins. _That_ was why he decided on the colourful tattoo that was staring back at him in the floor length mirror, not to show off that he was a part of an elite club. 

As a joke, Zayn asks Liam if he wants him to hold his hand when it’s his turn, but the man simply shoos him away after telling him that what he was getting was _on_ his hand. Unless it’s some sort of knuckle tatt, Zayn’s not sure what else Liam could fit on either hand, but he goes to sit with the other three on the couch to shit talk until Liam’s finished, which, to Zayn’s surprise, takes less than twenty minutes. 

“Alright,” Niall hoists himself up off the couch, the rest following. “Let’s see Payno.” 

At first Zayn thinks he’s just gotten the eagle touched up when he’s holding out his right hand for them to see, but then it becomes apparent that that’s not the case. There’s now a sun and its rays that have been added behind the bird. 

Zayn gawks at Liam in amazement. 

“That’s it?” Louis says, possibly the most unimpressed Zayn’s ever heard him. “What’s so secretive about a sun?” 

_Baby light me up_

Intentionally, or unintentionally, Liam pretends like the others aren’t even around when he speaks directly to Zayn. “I guess it’s just another stupid addition.” 

Biting his lip, Zayn’s eyes fill with endearment at Liam’s code. He doesn’t need to ask Zayn what he thinks of it, that doesn’t matter. It’s what he wants. And maybe if Louis wasn’t already busy talking about what would be served at the pre-ceremony dinner, he’d have seen the meaningful exchange between the two. 

“Now he can see where he’s flying,” Zayn points out, still enamored by black. 

Like his reply, Liam grins, “Calmly.” 

_Until the quiet comes_

“Let’s go!” Niall calls out, stretching with eagerness to leave a place he sees hardly any appeal in. Food and drinks shared between international friends is much more his pace than the smell of sterilizing fluids. 

Soba noodles do sound amazing, but Zayn stays staring at Liam’s hand until the artist’s taking it away to wrap. 

Walking out, the athlete makes sure that his family’s all good with their seats before feeling at ease enough to eat with the other skateboarders, where Liam, at long last, proves his final form chopstick skills - practically new hands compared to the ones that stabbed, instead of balanced the first day Zayn witnessed the atrocity. As promised, Zayn provides him with an embarrassing story of how he had to lie to the kids in his class on how he lost his first front tooth, since he was too mortified to tell them the truth: that it had to be pulled out at the dentist after he chipped the baby tooth accidentally eating one of his younger sisters’ fake play fruits. 

Dinner and the conversation had during it was the last thing on Zayn’s mind when he’s marching across the national stadium several hours later. There’s no way he can make out his family in the 48,000 staring back at him, but just knowing that they’re sitting somewhere up there (most likely crying if he knows his Mother) is enough for Zayn. 

Taking in at all the lights and illustrious decorations, Zayn feels the same, and yet totally different than how he did during the opening ceremony. Of course the main distinction’s the heavy weight around his neck, but the freedom to feel joyous without any catch of underlying creeping fear, was what had Zayn nearly in tears. 

He and Louis show off their medals to a camera that comes close, tongues out in pure elation. Liam’s probably got a million and one photos of him in that same pose as the night progresses to a premiere club in the city center where their crew and several other athletes take to renting out the VIP area as a final hoorah. Looked at in succession, the pictures most likely did a perfect job of capturing Zayn’s journey from sober to as close to wasted as he can afford without waking up and hating himself the next day. He’d bet Liam’s sideways selfies probably do about the same. Maybe even heighten the time lapse, since Zayn makes sure to always keep contact with the man throughout the night in some way or another. 

_[Come around like the summer time](https://youtu.be/0EJxJ0Q_F2I)_

_[You bring bright light into my life](https://youtu.be/0EJxJ0Q_F2I)_

_[When I’m with you, I feel alright](https://youtu.be/0EJxJ0Q_F2I)_

At first it’s his fingers grazing along lower Liam’s spine, but that turns into him pulling the physio close by his stylish button down. Their beards brush against each other when they’re swaying together. Even when they’re dancing on the table, Zayn positions his leg next to Liam’s to make sure the male doesn’t fall. Niall’s the only reason Zayn’s not sprawled out on Liam’s lap in the taxi back to the Village, otherwise the touching wouldn’t have stopped. 

Still, he’s not drunk yet. However, as soon as he sees that the Village doesn’t plan on sleeping any time soon when they arrive, Zayn thinks he’s bound to get there soon enough. 

Music’s blaring from just about every corner of the housing units, doors of rooms open to let the stereo systems inside them carry the sound out into the hallways. It doesn’t take long for Zayn’s playlist expertise to make their floor the place to go. 

_[Don’t walk away, my love won’t hurt you](https://youtu.be/HIJ5XvZeb-k)_

_[Don’t walk away boy, I’ll be right there for you](https://youtu.be/HIJ5XvZeb-k)_

Almost as soon as the German football team comes up to see what foreigner’s got the taste to include a few of their underground DJ’s in the mix, Zayn takes one of his boards out into the crowded corridor where people are congregating to do a few kick flips. There’s not much room for anything other than that or simple ollie’s, but he and his board are _one_. Performing the tricks are as much of a habit to Zayn as running his hands through his hair is, so add alcohol and good music to the picture and he’s about as fidgety as it comes. 

Liam’s just about hit drunk himself, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to get Zayn off the board. ‘You’ll hurt yourself and need a lot more than my massages’. But what skater would Zayn be if he listened at a time like this? Instead, he disobeys and executes an effortless drunk shove it, in the way only a gold medalist can. Grinning charmingly at the physio, ‘Your massages can cure cancer’. 

But Zayn actually does stop when he feels the last tequila shot kick in, giggling like mad at the sight of Liam wearing his medal and a stolen signature snapback of Zayn’s, shutting their door soon after to pull the man in for as much snogging as his inebriated state would allow. 

**Competition Day: -4**

Surprisingly when Zayn wakes up from Louis entering the room with Harry to pack up and get ready for their flight back home, he doesn’t feel as hungover as he would’ve thought. If it was from Liam’s damn lavender device, he really was a gift from god. 

Normally he’d poke fun at Louis for looking like he just got hit by a truck, but Zayn stays quiet as he and Liam find their shirts, since it doesn’t look like the bloodshot eyes are from excessive drinking. 

A sickening feeling washes over him from the amount of tension in the room now that Liam’s left to gather his own things, and at how useless any words he spoke would be. 

“So, um, thanks for the help,” Zayn breaks the silence awkwardly as he stacks his boards and equipment into one of his red duffles. “While we were here. And for keeping this guy busy so I didn’t have to worry about him getting in trouble.” It’s a sad attempt at lightening the mood. 

“You’re welcome.” Harry folds the clothes Louis throws at him neatly and Zayn thinks that’s as perfect an illustration of their complementary personalities as it can get. “It was a once in a lifetime experience getting to see things that close up. I got lucky to be assigned to a cool group of people. Might’ve been a bit different had I gotten matched up with the shot putters.” 

Zayn smiles at the thought, “Yeah, you’re probably right about that. Any time you visit home, don’t be a stranger.” Zipping up the bag, he glances up to see if he hit a nerve, but even if he did, Zayn wants Harry to know it’s not just Louis, he wants him to come too. 

So when he hears the male’s reply of “I’m already trying to find a time when I can take time off”, Zayn’s uneasiness is dismissed. 

“Sick,” he responds, leaving it at that now that he knows things aren’t going to end for him and Louis and also not to pour salt into the wounds by talking too much about London. 

As soon as he’s done packing all his things, he gives them the room to make sure Niall’s awake and ready to go. The extra time still doesn’t help with Louis’ tears that he tries to brush away inconspicuously when they’re on the coach bus back to the airport. Thank god he perks up a bit when he finds out that he gets to sit in Business class on the Team GB only British Airway flight, otherwise Zayn was going to have to do something he’d certainly regret just to get the boy to smile. 

He’s about to sit with his friend, but a stewardess informs him that the seats are assigned and that he’s been allocated one in First Class for being awarded a gold medal. It’s not the sort of thing he wants his best friend to hear in his current state of mind, and even though Zayn doesn’t care about flashy things like First Class, he’d much rather sit with his mate, Louis tells him to go, he was up all night soaking in the last few hours with Harry so he plans to just try and sleep anyway. 

The idea doesn’t sound half bad to Zayn, but it turns out to be a lot harder than he thought with the amount of celebrating going on all around him when he gets up front, those in his section of the plane not having to worry anymore about upsetting those who have lost, since they’re all in the same high achieving boat. Regardless, that doesn’t stop people from coming up to Zayn every once and awhile to let him know how sick they thought his performance was once they got the chance to watch the replay. 

Halfway through the flight, he gets tired of champagne bottles being popped and boring films, so he ventures back to hang with Liam and Niall in economy for a while. On his way back to his seat, he checks on Louis, glad to see that his friend seems to be in a slightly better mood now that the champagne’s made it to Business Class. 

When they land, Zayn doesn’t at all expect to see paparazzi _on_ the runway from out his window, and he definitely doesn’t expect for a commissioner to come up to him and explain that he’s going to be one of the first out of the plane, due to his unique, history making win. 

The sun blinds him when the front door opens, but so does the shock of how many photographers there are now that he’s able to see them from a different vantage point than behind a porthole. 

Doing all he knows to do, Zayn smiles and waves from atop the stairs, an athlete on either side of him, also chosen because their iconic wins - one coming home with gold for the third time, and the other an underdog that no one saw taking first. 

A feeling of surrealism overtakes Zayn when Louis and the rest of the athletes pile out of the plane and spread out on the tarmac to take pictures as a country, Team GB red and white shirts adorned proudly by all. 

Just when he thought the hysteria was over and he could coast through Heathrow on the board he left out of his checked baggage, Zayn was met with the chaos of everyone _inside_. Practically every traveler in Terminal 5 risked missing their flights to stop any passing athlete for a picture, taking him another hour to make it to baggage claim, but one look at the sea of identical Team GB red duffles strewn over the floor that belonged to 450+ athletes and staff, and Zayn wishes the photos lasted longer. It was like staring at the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle whose final image was just a solid shade of red. 

By a tedious process of elimination, he finds his bags and finally starts to make his way out of the airport, but not without more stopping him in the car park to say how proud they felt for a Brit to be the one to take home the first ever medal in a sport. 

**Competition Day: -60**

It’s the same thing that the Queen’s telling him when they meet after two days of celebratory parades in Manchester and London. 

Zayn dares anyone to go back in time and try telling his kid self that he’d one day be in a suit, standing in front of the Queen, receiving a compliment on his _skateboarding_. How did the Queen even know what skateboarding was? It was a ridiculous thought, of course she knew what it _was_ , but to go from a sport associated with crime and illegal activity, to being recognized by the highest royal in the West, was unbelievable. 

Later on in the night when they meet up for dinner, Zayn chews Liam’s ear off, talking about how incredulous he feels about everything. 

“And I have faith you can do it all over again,” the man responds confidently, eyes twinkling with tender conviction. 

Zayn’s not so sure about that. If he does make it in four years, he’ll be thirty one, so it’d definitely be his last major competition, but if he doesn’t, the one time was good enough for him. He got a medal, an Australian sunkissed boyfriend, and memories to last a lifetime. 

**Competition Day: -5,478**

“Baba I’m scared.” 

“It’s ok love, I’m right here.” 

Arms outstretched to show that he was ready to catch the five year old if she fell, Zayn inspects her foot placement on the skateboard under her feet to make sure that the odds of her taking a spill were lowered by at least having the right form. “You’ve got all your pads and helmet on, you won’t get hurt. I promise.” 

The small girl turns her wide eyes to the man next to Zayn, wanting extra confirmation from him that things were going to be alright from her drop down the two meter ramp. 

“He’ll catch you sweetheart, and if he doesn’t, I will,” Liam promises with his phone at the ready, though Zayn knows that if it came down to it, his husband would drop the device in a second to save their daughter. 

“It’s not that bad Soph!” 

All three watch as the nine year old who gave the reassurance coasts over on his own board from across the warehouse. “Once you do it the first time, you’ll want to do it a million more.” 

The encouragement from her brother causes the girl to stare back at her Father’s awaiting arms and lean forward just enough for her weight to push the board off the edge of the ramp. 

Zayn steps back as she rides the short distance down, following her as she drifts towards the center of the room as much as her tiny body would allow. 

“I did it!” The girl squeals, its volume going up when Zayn lifts her off the board and twirls her in the air. 

He’s got the biggest smile as he lets her wrap her arms and legs around him in a hug. “I’m so proud of you,” Zayn says into her hair after leaving a kiss there. 

Phone now in his pocket, Liam comes up to steal the girl from Zayn’s arms. “Me too,” he praises. “That was a big step. You’re so brave.” 

“We should celebrate!” 

Zayn laughs at the younger boy’s enthusiastic suggestion, but he’s right, they should. The milestone might not have been the largest, considering how far _he’s_ come since Zayn’s taught him how to skate - and if Zayn thought Liam was a worrier when they were younger, he was nothing compared to when they became Fathers for the first time. Luckily he’s learned how to relax about scrapes and bruises over the past nine years, but the first time Ryder got on a board, Zayn made sure Liam was at work. It might have caused a fight after dinner between the two men when the boy, then four, met his Father at the door as soon as he heard the keys hit the lock to babble on about how he didn’t just get to _watch_ Zayn in the family’s skateboarding warehouse that day, he got to _join_ him, but Zayn didn’t care. 

“How about we go out to eat?” 

The other three are agreeing to Zayn’s idea, already moving towards the exit of the indoor park. 

“Can I wear your medal to dinner?” Sophie asks Liam, not wanting to get down from her spot in his arms. 

Zayn smiles to himself as he nudges the little girl’s board out in front of him and jumps on to kick, push, his way to the area where they keep decks. Only on very rare occasions does Zayn take out his two gold medals from their cases in his office, and as much as he wants to make his daughter happy, he’s not about to have sticky fingers get all over something as important as Olympic relics. Hearing a “maybe when we get back” come from Liam lets him know the man’s thinking the same thing. 

It does warm his heart how the girl refers to one of the medals however. His first win was for himself, for skateboarding as a whole, but his second? That was dedicated to his husband of two and a half years at the time. For his love and support, but mostly because he never got the chance to be on the podium himself. That gold was Liam’s and now they both could finish their realistic bucket lists. 

“Can we get Chinese?” Ryder asks as he skates up next to Zayn, throwing his board into the slot that has his name decorated in purple flames above it. “I want to try the chopsticks again.” 

“You hear that?” After putting away Sophie’s board into her slot, Zayn looks back at Liam. “Our son wants to get good at chopsticks.” 

Liam’s not impressed by the joke, playfully glaring at his husband, who’s aged tremendously in the fifteen years they’ve known each other. 

“What?” 

Zayn sees that the young boy’s confused by the inside joke that he’s not in on. “When I met your Dad, he was rubbish at chopsticks. I had to teach him how to use them even though we were already adults.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with learning things when you’re older,” Liam retorts, hoisting the girl in his arms up higher to get a better grip on her. 

_Like how you tried to get me on a surfboard when we were in Hawaii?_ Zayn thinks to himself. At the time, Liam had had a pretty compelling argument that revolved around Zayn being a master at balance on the ground, so the translation would be virtually the same in water, except Zayn and deep water didn’t mix, Liam knew that. It helped that the example worked both ways. Why couldn’t Liam get on a skateboard then if he was so good at surfing? The counter argument had Zayn basking in the sun far from the unknown depths of the sea. 

“Does that mean you’ll try and learn how to skate with us Daddy?” 

It’s no secret that both men have a soft spot for the little girl, but not even her innocent tone can get Liam to budge on that. “Skateboarding is all your Baba. I’m just your guys’ number one fan.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who’s read this far!
> 
> The theme for this story revolves around how some people have the ability to _feel_ deeper than others (very much a real thing that I have, and have spent hours talking to my own therapist about) and the unspoken ness that comes from two people who experience that, finding one another. An interview of Liam’s just came out with him saying he’s gotten a lot of his tattoos on a drunken whim, but the tattoo talk between him and zayn in this fic is very much indicative of how I wanted to get that theme across. So lets overlook that, shall we? Also, when zayn casually told him he'd take him to brazil without a second thought, or how he _told him_ he'd buy him his tea, didn't ask first. How liam mentioned that he'd rather spend the night walking around with zayn than sleep for work the next morning after only knowing him for a few days. Those sort of things were minimal, but crucial to how they operate and how that lends itself to the message of the story. Just had to add that in case you missed it.
> 
> I have some minimal knowledge on skateboarding, but I definitely watched A LOT of footage at 1/4 speed on YT to get it all down pat while listening to lofi music, which was how I pieced together Zayn’s instrumental playlist.
> 
> Click [ here](https://ziamhaze.tumblr.com/patreon) for the following:
> 
> \- Trick video master list, including Zayn’s event tricks that I didn’t want to embed for fear of spoilers  
> \- Zayn’s Instrumental Playlist  
> \- Zayn’s Casual Skating Playlist  
> \- Zayn’s Hype Playlist  
> \- Liam’s Olympic Finals Playlist  
> \- Pictures of mentioned places/things  
> \- Loads of inspiration pictures that I used, incl. ziam skateboarding irl and the outfit that Zayn bought Liam
> 
> Check out my [ tumblr](https://ziamhaze.tumblr.com/patreon) !
> 
> Feel free to spread the love through picspam [ here ](https://ziamhaze.tumblr.com/post/186287183529/ziam-ficrec-kick-push-by-ziamhaze-zayn-wants) too.
> 
> Until the next fic...


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